In Love and War
by Freakyleaf
Summary: A war is raging between Aquaria and Airyglyph. During the time that Fayt Leingod feels most alone is when he happens to find the one thing he needs but does not realize: someone to love. [AU, AlbelxFayt]
1. Prologue

**Prescript: **Humm. So this is an AU story that I came up with the idea for when I was laying in bed staring at the ceiling. Yes. Any of you who were reading "Call Me by Name" can pretty much forget about it... I got extremely bored with that story and stopped writing it.

**Setting: **Aquios and a bit of Airyglyph later on.

**Warnings: **This is a malexmale story. If you don't like it, DON'T READ IT. Also, you'll want to watch for my lovely overuse of "bad words," and my fascination with blood.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Star Ocean: Til the End of Time or anything therein. And that sucks. But oh well.

**X (In Love and War: Prologue) X**

**T**ough times are ravaging the continent of Gaitt.

The winter season has brought a shortage of food and many livestock creatures are freezing to death in their snow-covered pastures. Illnesses spread through the population like wildfire; many children and elderly citizens have died, unable to be cured in time. Worst of all, however, is a war between the nations of Aquaria and Airyglyph. Soldiers live in poor conditions, are short in supplies, and are in low spirits. The fight has been going on for so long, even the national leaders cannot remember what started it. Since the illness is reaping so many young lives, the two militaries are mainly composed of middle-aged adults that are too busy grieving the loss of their children to care much for battles.

The Aquarians are at the lower end of the scale, being short in runologists, and not having the ability to obtain supplies for weapons. Yet, despite that Aquaria is losing the war, Airyglyph has its own set of difficulties. The heavy snowfall hinders them, causes famines, freezes anyone who is not well-prepared for the weather. Soldiers in heavy armor are brought to a stand-still, the links in their armor freezing solid. Even the three captains: Duke Vox, Woltar, and Albel Nox of the Dragon, Storm, and Black Brigades respectively are having difficulty this season (especially Nox, considering his outlandish attire). They get an encouraging, "Keep at it, men," from their king when he ventures out to make his rounds, but other than that, their spirits are just as low as their enemies'.

Despite the hardships that threatened to end life as they know it, the people of the city attempted to proceed as normal. A family in Aquios that had been there for many generations -- the Leingods -- had a son of nineteen. He wasn't much for the military, and he preferred to stay at home and help his parents. He, as well as his friend that he knew so long he considered her a cousin -- Sophia Esteed -- spent their winter days growing up playing together, blissfully unaware of their country's plight. As they grew older, they began to realize the danger they and their loved ones were in, and developed their own ideas about how to deal with the problem. The boy Fayt insisted that there was no reason to fight, and was frustrated when no one accepted his ideals.

One evening as the boy was returning from his trip to the fields to forage for food among the frozen roots, he discovered the bodies of not only his parents but of Sophia and her family in the street outside their homes, among many others. Since he had no other relatives, Fayt had no choice but to go on alone. After some time, he made the acquaintances of two people who dwelled in castle Aquaria: Nel Zelpher and Dion Landers, as well as a young man by the name of Evia. The three often came to check up on him, and to help with whatever chores they could provided they had enough time.

Most of the time, it was young Evia who looked out for Fayt, and he did so morning and night. It is on one such commonplace morning that our story takes place: there had been a recent battle between Aquarian and Glyphian soldiers just outside Aquois resulting in an Aquarian victory. Many soldiers, survivors, and citizens ran rampant in the streets, leaving all kinds of valuables in their wake. Often, needy folk would venture out to collect what they could find; Fayt among them. But today, the boy had found much more than he bargained for...


	2. This Must Be the Truth

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 1) X**

**E**via never, ever knocked when he visited Fayt. The two were such close friends that it wasn't necessary; in fact, Fayt was almost offended when the young man did knock. Despite the war, no one locked their doors, especially those that decided that if they were to die, they would not die in fear. Today was so far just like any other. Young Evia barged right in and announced, "Fayt! I'm here! Gonna get somethin' to eat!" He wandered to the tiny kitchen to explore the refridgerator. He, like his good blue-haired friend, lived on his own, surviving off whatever he could find, steal, or grow. The difference between the two youths was that Evia had only Fayt to call a friend; his eccentricity seemed to repel others. While browsing the make-shift box packed with ice to keep its contents cool, he came across a few boiled eggs and took one for himself, then wandered upstairs to see his friend.

Fayt seemed to be leaning over something in his bed, Evia observed from the threshold of Fayt's bedroom. "Folding laundry, Fayt?" he questioned, but the younger boy merely shook his head and gently waved his hand.

"No, shh. You'll wake him," Fayt murmured. Evia moved to his side. Resting fitfully in the bed was a man no older than his twenties at most, his sharp-featured face shrouded by black, blonde-ended hair. He was skinny as a rail and garbed in the most ridiculously scant purple outfit, Evia had to wonder how the man avoided frost-bite. A large, metal gauntlet covered the man's left arm, five long, pointy claws protruding from the glove, and a thick iron collar with a dangling chain link encased his throat.

"My!" the older of the two exclaimed delightedly, "Who is this?"

"Dunno," Fayt replied, pulling the blankets up to the sleeping guest's chin. "He was laying on the bridge and breathing so hard I thought he was suffocating..."

"My goodness," Evia commented, giving the stranger a look of pity. "He looks awful hurt..."

"He was." Fayt motioned to a pile of blood-soaked bandages and gauze discarded on the floor. "I've been looking after him all morning and he hasn't stirred at all."

The older boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, fingering strands of dark brown hair that had gotten into his eyes. "Maybe we should ask Nel who he is... she seems to have info on everyone in the world!"

"Perhaps we should," Fayt agreed. He lifted his green eyes to the window and stared longingly down the busy, bustling road. "But you go get her. I don't want to leave this guy alone."

"Aww," Evia grumbled, taking a huge bite of his boiled egg and speaking with his mouth full, "Why can't I stay and you go?"

Fayt rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. "Because, I want him to know that I saved his life, if he wakes up!"

"I could tell him that much!"

"Evia." Fayt sighed, trying unsuccessfully to conceal a smile, "Just go, okay? I'll make some tarts if you do."

The mention of fresh, sweet, homemade pastries made Evia's mind up for him. "You can count on me!" he assured his friend, and out the door he marched.

To Fayt, the journey from the castle and back seemed unbelievably fast. Nel and Evia climbed noisily up the wooden stairs and peered into the room before they came in. "Hello, Fayt," the young woman greeted with a patient smile. "Is something wrong? Evia sounded awfully excited..." She shot the dark-haired youth a look and recieved a sunny smile in response.

"Well, I found this guy injured on the bridge..." Fayt glanced at the man he'd rescued, who seemed to be having a tough time maintaining peace in his sleep. "But I've never seen him before."

"He must not be from around here," Evia chimed in, busy removing the shell from another boiled egg. "So we decided to ask you... Nel?"

The female runologist was staring intensely at Fayt's guest, mild terror evident in her eyes. The two boys exchanged glances; they looked at the stranger, then at Nel. "Wh... what's wrong, Nel?" Fayt piped up. He reached nervously to tap her arm. Before he could make contact, however, she whirled on him.

"Fayt! This man is Albel Nox, captain of Airyglyph's Black Brigade!" she cried, pointing accusatively at the man occupying the bed. "He's very dangerous; you mustn't keep him here!"

The blue-haired youth stared blankly at the woman, and Evia's expression was no different. "...Al...bel...?"

"Surely you've heard of Albel the Wicked," Nel insisted. "He led attacks on us three years ago! He is the most powerful swordsman on Gaitt; a merciless fiend that slaughters for fun and lives for bloodshed." The woman lowered her head sadly and added, "I've lost many a comrade to that gauntlet."

Three sets of eyes rested on the metal claw that covered Albel's left arm. It seemed that the tapiring blades were permanently shaded with blood: something neither Fayt nor Evia had noticed before. Nel touseled her red bobbed hair, giving Albel a contemptuous glare. "I say we destroy him now, while he's still weak and unable to fight back!"

Now it was Fayt's turn to be terrified, and he moved quickly to defend his incapacitated guest. "No! Why would you want to hurt anyone like that?"

"He's a monster, Fayt! He gets a kick out of murdering innocent people!" Nel exclaimed, throwing one arm to the side. "He... he led the attack on Aquios, the one that killed your family."

Off to the side, Evia stood in surprise, and dragged his gaze from Nel to Fayt. Fayt was thoroughly stunned, staring at Nel with large eyes and mouth agape. He arched his eyebrows slowly, questioningly, as if waiting for her to say that she was only kidding, and that he surely was not caring for the very man that was responsible for the death of everyone he ever loved. Yet Nel said nothing of that sort, which seemed to shock the boy more.

"You see?" Nel said, her tone dropping to its much lower, more mellow manner, and there were traces of pity in her voice. "Why would you want to keep alive a ruthless man like him? Kill him now, while we have the chance."

Fayt seemed overwhelmed with this new information, as well as the very idea of ending someone's life. He looked to Evia for guidance and received a bewildered shrug. A knot tied itself in the youth's throat, preventing him from speaking. He swallowed it down. "I... even though he killed my family... I just... I can't just kill him."

The runologist took her turn at being stunned. "Why in the world not? Wouldn't you want to avenge the death of your parents? And all the other people he--"

"No..." Fayt shook his head slowly from side to side, looking upon the face of the murderer he had taken care of. "If I do that... then I would be no better than him! There's no meaning in that. No... avengement... in that."

A slight, cheery laugh from Evia seemed to break up the steadily increasing tension. "Well said, Fayt! There you have it Nel -- Albel the Wicked lives." He beamed at the redhead, who seemed to be quite outraged with the decision, though it quickly died down at the charisma that showed on Fayt's face.

"Ve...very well, Fayt..." Nel said in submission at last, lifting a hand and holding it palm-up before her, "But when things get bloody, please... _please_ don't say I didn't warn you." Fayt gave a nod, nibbling gently on his bottom lip. The woman's obvious concern bothered him some, and he had to wonder if this pale, thin man was really as much of a threat as Nel marked him up to be. "He is very, very dangerous," the woman reiterated, dropping her hand at her side. She moved toward the door and stopped, one foot over the threshold. "Be judicious, and ever more wary."

And with that, she left. Evia snorted and giggled after her, shaking his head with such intensity that locks of coarse brown hair drooped in his eyes. "She speaks as if the guy is Armeggedon or something." He placed his hands on his hips and shook from side to side, mocking the runologist, and Fayt couldn't surpress his laughter at the imitation.

"Still... if he's captain of the Black Brigade, he must be good enough to have a position like that," Fayt offered. "Even if he doesn't look like much."

"Look like much?" Evia covered his mouth, giggling and smiling through his fingers. "He looks like somethin' to me alright."

The blue-haired youth craned his head, perking a brow. "Huh? What are you talking about _now_?"

Evia laughed and moved to the side of the bed parallel to Fayt and took the hem of the blanket in his hand, pulling it down enough to expose the sleeping man's bare stomach. With his other hand, he pointed to the pale skin. "Just look at those muscles!" he crooned. Fayt stared at his friend in disbelief, and forced the laughter back down his throat. It came back up, however, when Evia proceeded to gingerly slide a finger across Albel's stomach.

"_Evia_! Gosh!" Fayt laughed, clamping a hand over his mouth to try and smother his amusement, to no avail. He was afraid to make too much noise, lest the man wake up and catch them in the act of fawning over him. "Leave him alone, would you? He needs to get all the rest he can."

Carefully tugging the blankets back up to Albel's chin, Evia laughed a little more. "Alright, alright... you killjoy." The two boys stuck their tongues out at one another, and the older of the two shuffled to the door. "I guess I'll leave you two alone now--" he paused to giggle briefly, "--see you tonight, alright?"

"Alright," Fayt grumbled embarassedly, shooing Evia off with a wave of his hand. He crouched there beside the bed until he heard the front door slam carelessly shut, then stood. His legs were sore from staying in that position so long, and he took a few moments to stretch them out before surveying Albel the Wicked. The color of his hair struck him as odd...

Before he could stop himself, he was reaching down and plucking a strand of black hair from the man's shoulder in his fingers. He inspected an extremely long, braided contraption and found it to be a hair tail; one of two, as a matter of fact. After pawing the blonde ends that poked out from the braids, he became compelled to run a hand through the messy locks, but before he could get there--

"Wha--!" The voice was foreign and sudden, and it startled Fayt enough to send him sprawling on his behind a few feet away. The boy came to realize that it was coming from his guest, and quickly tried to regain his composure, scrambling over on hands and knees to the bedside. He lifted himself up and peered at the man, who seemed to have snapped awake, and was now staring confusedly around with narrow, ruby eyes.

"Guh... good morning!" Fayt greeted, trying to imitate the sunny smile he had seen Evia display so often. "How are you feeling...?"

The pair of cold eyes swerved in their course to look at Fayt, and they beheld no recognition or welcome. "Who the hell are you? Where am I?" Fayt recoiled slightly, but managed to hold his ground.

"You're..." he stopped. Would it be safe to tell a Glyphian, let alone a captain of one of the three Brigades, that he was in Aquios, the heart of Aquaria's nation? No, he decided, it would not. He would at least have to find out just how threatening this man really was before he divulged anything like that. "...My name is Fayt! Fayt Leingod. You're in my house."

Albel the Wicked did not seem satisfied with the youth's explaination, and he quickly sat up, intent on leaving right away. He had more important business to take care of, no time to fool around with idiotic children with strange hair colors. As soon as he was up, a massive wave of pain bit him in the side, and he fell back down into the pillow. "Agh! What... why does it hurt?"

"You don't remember?" Fayt murmured, inclining his head as he studied the outlandish man with nice muscles that was said to be so dangerous. "You... got here and fainted on the bridge. I brought you here." He paused, rubbing his upper arm uneasily. "You were... heavy!"

"Bridge," Albel repeated, moving the blankets down and lifting his head from the pillow to try and see the wounds, and was surprised to find them cleanly treated already. "What city am I in...? Have I made it to Peterny?"

"Peterny?" Fayt raised his eyebrows, remembering Nel's words. He was captain of the Black Brigade. He led attacks on Aquaria, one of which resulted in the death of his family... "Why do you ask?"

The wicked swordsman eyed the boy suspiciously, draping his right arm over the worst of his injuries as if to protect it. "I feel no need to explain myself to the likes of you, maggot." The young boy stood taken aback, not knowing what to say. He was awfully cold, and difficult to get through to... "Would you mind answering my question, fool?" he snapped after a pause, "Have I reached Peterny, or not?"

"I... uh..." Fayt hesitated a moment. What was the best thing to say in a situation like this? He didn't particularly like lying, not to anyone, but began to figure that it would be necessary. At least for now. "No."

"Then where am I?" Albel demanded, sitting up suddenly and reopening the wound he had been trying so hard to defend. He reclined again, a mild wince on his face.

The blue-haired youth's eyes darted in several directions. "You're... in..." The memory of a vacation he and his family had taken to Kirlsa came to mind. It made his heart sting a little, even moreso than usual because he was in the very presence of the man who took all those memories away from him, but it still relieved him that he could remember it. He could remember the long, narrow dirt roads, small, comfortable houses, friendly shopkeepers..."You're in Kirlsa."

"_Kirlsa_?" Disbelief and maybe even horror crossed into Albel's eyes and mingled with the anger that was already there. "I thought for sure I had made more progress than that! This is unacceptable. I have to..." For a third time the man sat up, ignoring the searing pain in his body and swinging his legs to the floor. "...go!" He managed to stand, but as soon as he took one step, he toppled forward. Fayt rushed to catch him, nearly overwhelmed with the difference in their weights.

"Oof!" The boy cried, catching Albel around the shoulders, stumbling against the far wall and sliding down it. Albel slumped into his lap, hissing through his teeth as wounds upon wounds were reopened. "Ah... are you alright? See now, you have to stay in bed."

Summoning up his strength, Fayt dragged Albel into his arms and stood, half-carrying him to the bed. The wicked swordsman fell clumsily into it and crawled to the pillow, burying his face in it. Fayt pulled the blankets up over him and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry... you should be fine in at least a week..."

"A _week_?" cried the muffled, irritated voice in the pillow. Fayt merely lowered his head in apology and wandered off to retrieve more medical supplies, leaving the silence to speak for itself. When the boy returned, his guest was still quietly griping to himself. "How could I possibly be in Kirlsa? I must have been detained somehow! Was it Dejison, that wriggling maggot? It had to have been him. When I get my hands on him, I strangle the life from him, and-- OUCH!"

Fayt grimaced at the man's cry, gingerly applying rubbing alcohol to the wounds to clean them as he had before. "I'm sorry! Hold... still!"

Sighing annoyedly, Albel found no other option but to do as this irritating boy said, and lay still, stretched out on the bed to be treated. Every once in awhile he would grit his teeth and hiss, but managed to hold his own. At least, until Fayt got to the deep cut near his neck. "By the gods, fool! Be _careful_!"

"I'm _sorry_!" Fayt snapped back, swallowing down the frustrated lump in his throat. He was beginning to regret his decision to spare the swordsman's life already. A whole week with this ungratefulness, listening to him complain and growl... and when he wasn't bitching, he was glaring him down! "Will you turn your head a little, please?"

"_Why_, so you can make it hurt more than it already does?" The Wicked One barked, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to move his head in the slightest.

"If that's how you want to look at it!" Fayt exclaimed, slowly beginning to lose his patience. "_Turn_ your _head_. If I don't clean it, it'll get infected!" The two of them locked eyes for the second time since Albel had woken up: red reflected in green, green in red, both sets narrowed at the other. The silent pause was almost deafening.

"...Make me."

Fayt tossed the medical supplies down in defeat and leapt to his feet, stomping from his room and slamming the door behind him. He stormed down the stairs and snatched his wicker basket off the table on his way out the front door, and slammed that behind him, too. In fact, he stormed all the way to the fields, which were mostly bare from overpicking, and cooled off by searching for whatever leftovers he could find. A whole _week_, probably more, with _him_? "Maybe I should have just taken Nel's advice..." he grumbled softly, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "I should have let him die!"

Dropping the basket at his feet, he hung his head and slowly sat down on the hard, dry dirt; a spot free of snow. Albel was the killer of his family, anyway. He murdered many of his people. Why should someone that terrible be allowed to live? And he wasn't even grateful! "What would dad have wanted me to do...?" he whispered, clasping his hands at his throat and lowering his head, as if in prayer. As he thought hard, about his gentle mother, idealistic father, caring aunt and uncle, and his sweet, playful cousin, he tried to compare his decision with what any of them would have done.

It soon occured to him that the things he had said to Nel were definately not his own words. _If I killed him, then I would be no better than him. There is no meaning in that. No... avengement... in that at all._

This had to be the truth. He could hear the voices of his family urging him to think so.


	3. Emptiness All Around

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 2) X**

**F**ayt took his time returning home from the fields. He was almost afraid that when he walked in the door, everything would be ruined and pillaged and his guest would be long gone with anything of worth. That wasn't the case, however; everything was exactly as he had left it, and Albel was fast asleep in the bed. The sun had long since gone down behind the hills, which meant that Evia would be returning for the second time to join him for dinner, as he always did. Sometimes the blue-haired boy would make dinner and have it ready, and sometimes he would wait until his friend came so he would have someone to help him. Tonight, he decided, he would just go ahead and make it. "I wonder if... Albel will want to eat with us?" he murmured to himself as he placed a pot on the make-shift stove and lit the fire beneath it. "But what would he eat?"

He considered going up and asking the Wicked One if he was interested in dinner, but decided that he would set a place and cook a little extra, and leave it up to him to join them. The menu tonight consisted of stew, made with some of the corn he had picked earlier, a few boiled eggs, cut up apples, cheese, and little bits of meat he had managed to buy for only a few Fol; a leftover loaf of bread; and freshly squeezed orange juice. It was an unethical dinner, but it would have to do. Anyone who complained would just have to go without. While the stew simmered on the stove, Fayt set the table -- three places this time, instead of the usual two. Luckily, he had just enough dishes and silverware to accomodate another person.

Just as he was ladling stew into the bowls, bread already set out on the table, all three cups full of orange juice, Evia came trouncing into the house. "Hey, Fayt!" he chirped, offering his friend something of a wave and plopping down in his usual chair. "Where's your little sexy friend?"

"Upstairs, sleeping," Fayt replied without a thought to Evia's description of Albel. When he realized what the dark-haired boy had said, he shot him a look, but it went unnoticed.

"Is he going to eat with us? There are three places..." Evia observed, idly swinging his legs, heels scraping against the wood floor. Fayt nodded, setting the pot back on the dying down fire to keep it relatively warm in case anyone wanted seconds.

"Yeah... I'll go see if he wants to come down, hang on a sec." The blue-haired boy scrambled as noiselessly as possible up the stairs and peered around the doorframe into his bedroom. It seemed that his guest was still fast asleep, but he couldn't be sure. Clearing his throat softly, he inched into the room and wrung his hands. "Al...bel?"

The man stirred slightly, apparantly having some kind of horrid dream, for he tossed and grumbled every so often. Fayt hesitated, then gingerly shook his shoulder. "Albel. Hey, Albel! Wake up..." Albel continued to snooze, occasionally making a concerning whimper-like sound from the depths of his dreams. Fayt shook him a little harder. "Albel!"

"Mm." The tossing and unnerving noises ceased abruptly, and the boy could see the glints of Albel's red eyes through the dark. "What...? Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

Huffing a little at the impoliteness, Fayt withdrew his hand from the wicked swordsman's shoulder and placed it on own hip, instead. "Are you interested in having dinner, or would you rather starve?" he snapped, having almost forgotten how easy it was to lose your patience around this guy. Albel did not answer for a few moments.

"Dinner? Did you make it?"

"Well, obviously."

"Are _you _going to eat it, too?"

"Duh! Evia, you, and me."

"Evia?"

"Are you going to come eat, or _not_?" Fayt demanded, scuffing his heel aggrievedly. "If you aren't, it'll just be more for us."

Albel sat up slowly, tentatively, a mild scowl on his face. "Fine." He shoved the blankets off him and swung his legs to the floor, uncertainly standing up. Fayt reached out to help him. "Where is this 'dinner' of yours?"

"Downstairs," the blue-haired boy responded, beginning to wonder just how they were going to get there without Albel injuring himself even more. "It's just a short flight... I'll help you, okay?" Giving the man no time to answer, he took Albel's arm and began leading him to the door, moving at a pace that would allow the man to get used to being on his feet again.

"I can handle it myself," the Wicked One grumbled, half to himself, yet he didn't make any attempt at resisting the assistance he was given. His pride was taking a small hit, one that he could possibly overlook. And it would be worth it to do so: he _was _pretty damn hungry.

They reached the top of the stairs. Fayt didn't stop for a second, moving his guest down one step at a time, until they reached the bottom. Evia was still waiting at the table, eying the food desperately. "_There _you two are!" he cried when he spotted the two approaching the kitchen, "I thought I was going to starve to death before you came back!"

"Sorry," Fayt replied off-handedly, showing Albel to his seat, then finally sitting down in his own chair. "I hope it's not cold. Anyway... dig in!" Evia immediately did as he was told without a single thought, gobbling down his share of the food as if it were going out of style. Fayt was used to that behavior from his friend, and he usually ate rather quickly to himself, but this time, he was more interested in watching Albel. After the wicked swordsman had taken a few bites, he couldn't help but ask, "How... how is it?"

Albel paused, spoon raised halfway to his mouth, and looked at Fayt from the corner of his eye. "It's... edible." He took another bite and swallowed it down, then sipped from his orange juice. "You say you made all of this yourself?"

"Ye-yes..."

"Tastes like it." Albel smirked and took a piece of bread for himself and slathered it with stew. Fayt lowered his head, feeling his cheeks burn and tingle, mostly from embarassment. He couldn't tell if the guy was calling him down, or complimenting him. He guessed the former, but didn't want to go jumping to conclusions.

"Aren't you going to eat, Fayt?" Evia asked between slurps of his drink, "It's delicious as usual!"

"Oh. Oh, right." The blue-haired boy nodded and picked up his spoon, eating slowly. Of course, Evia had already licked his bowl clean and was going for seconds by the time he had finished, and Albel was nearly finished, as well.

"Soooo. Albel!" Evia piped up, propping his elbow up on the table and resting his head in his hand, "You're from Airyglyph, huh?"

Albel eyed the dark-haired boy suspiciously. "I suppose."

"What's it like there? I've never been to Airyglyph." Evia beamed, looking over Albel interestedly. Fayt's green eyes darted back and forth between the two of them nervously. What if Evia screwed up and let slip that they were in Aquios? But he couldn't very well just jump in there and interrupt them or anything... that would be acting too fishy.

Albel waved a hand, nibbling on the crust of his bread. "It's... cold."

"Especially in winter, I guess it would be," Evia giggled, spreading his fingers over his mouth to disguise his smile. "But if it's so cold, how come you're dressed like... that?"

Albel paused, teeth still sunk into his bread, and looked down at his attire. He hadn't ever really noticed anything wrong with it before. "Is it a problem?"

"No, no!" Evia giggled some more, unable to hide his amusement any more for it glistened too clearly in his eyes. "It's just that... well, you sure are an eye-catcher! Right, Fayt?"

Both Albel and Evia turned to look at Fayt, who stared back at them, stunned. "U-Uh..." He shot his friend an irritated, _thanks a lot_, look and nervously smiled at Albel. "R-Right! Eye-catcher. Ah... ah-huh."

"Bah," was all Albel the Wicked had to say on the matter. Evia squealed and giggled joyously. Fayt, still blushing hotly, scooped up everyone's plates and dumped them in the basin he washed everything in, dumped some water on them, and left them to wash later.

"Well!" Evia peeped, standing up and leaning on the back of his chair. "Hate to eat and run, but I promised I'd go visit Dion later! Although I do hate to leave such a hottie behind..."

The blue-haired boy, who had been drinking down his orange juice, choked into his cup and spat the juice back into its container. "Ev_ia_!" he scolded, wiping his chin of any drink that happened to be dribbling down it. Evia only laughed all the more wildly at his chastisement.

Albel perked an eyebrow, looking at the brown-haired boy as if he were insane, then turned his gaze to Fayt and jabbed his thumb at the mental case in question. "Is he always such a maggot?"

"Um, yep, all the time." Fayt rubbed the back of his neck, embarassed to high heaven and back. "You get used to it after you've known him nearly your whole life..."

Evia merely laughed a little more and approached the door, pulling it open. "Whatever! You two lovebirds try and have fun without me, alright? See you tomorrow!" And off he went. Fayt gagged into his juice cup again, blushing all over.

"What an idiot," Albel commented, rising from his chair with little difficulty. He felt a little less weak now that he had gotten something into his stomach. "Fools do not seem to be in short supply this season."

Fayt dropped his cup into the sink and furrowed his eyebrows at Albel. Was he insulting him _again_? What had he done _this _time? "I... guess you'll be wanting to go back to bed," he mumbled dismally, shuffling his feet.

"No," the Wicked One responded carelessly, "I'm going outside for some fresh air."

"...You can't!" Fayt yelped, jumping between Albel and the door. "I... I mean, you can't go outside at night, otherwise... all the uh, guards, go after you."

"Didn't that maggot you call a friend just go out?" Albel retorted, one hand on his hip.

"Yeah... but..." The boy's eyes darted from side to side. "He's a citizen of Kirlsa, so it's okay! You're not from around here, so they might, uh..."

"I get the idea already," Albel sighed, turning away and carefully beginning his trek back up the stairs. "You're not going to let me out. I get it. Shut up already." Fayt stood transfixed as the man disappeared upstairs, beginning to get the blood flowing in him again. He found it hard to think on his feet like that, especially when those garnet eyes were burning holes in his own.

"That... was close," he whispered to himself, slapping a hand over his heart and waiting until he had sufficiently caught his breath before he followed Albel upstairs. He peered into the room to make sure Albel was situated alright, and let out a strangled gasp, darting away from the door. _What the **hell** is he doing? _he thought, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Inside the room, Albel was working on getting his shirt off. Fayt listened, the back of his head pressed against the wall, to the faint rustling of material, then the soft creak of the bed that signified that the man had finally laid down. The boy took a breath, then peeked in again, eyes softening at the figure hidden under the blankets. He pushed the door open some and walked right in. "Everything alright?"

Albel poked his head out from under the blankets and turned his head to look at Fayt. "Just fine," he growled, tucking his legs up closer to his body. "Why, what do you want from me now?"

"I just... well, there's only one bedroom in the house... and I have to sleep _somewhere_..." Fayt practically whispered. He took a spare pillow from one side of the room and dropped it square in the middle of the room, plopping down on the floor and resting his head on it. "So I just... you know, I'll be right here if you need anything."

The wicked swordsman was silent for a moment. "You're going to sleep on the _floor_?" he finally asked, incredulity evident in his voice.

"Um... yes?"

"With no blankets at all."

"...Yeah?"

"In _this _kind of weather?"

"Mmhm..."

"I _don't _think so." Albel sat up halfway, propping himself up with his elbows. "Come here, maggot."

Blood suddenly running colder than the floor beneath him, Fayt got to his knees, peeking at Albel through the dark. He was only able to make out a rough outline of his frame in the moonlight that came in through the window; nothing but a dark shadow with two glinting eyes watching his every move. He got to his feet and moved over to the bed, trembling half from the cold, and have from being a little scared. This _was _a mass murderer he was dealing with, after all.

Albel reached out swiftly and seized the boy's arm, yanking him onto the bed, causing him to cry out in surprise as he tumbled onto the swordsman's legs. The older man practically dragged Fayt to his side, shifting the blankets over him, then lay back down. "_This _is where you will sleep," he said firmly.

Fayt swallowed hard, unsure of which direction to inch: further from Albel and the warmth of his body, or closer to him and the danger of being killed in his sleep. His mind was made up for him when a thin, strong arm pulled him closer around the middle. The boy continued to shake wildly. He could feel Albel's cold breath on his neck, and wondered if he would bite him, like in the stories of vampires that he and Sophia would read together. They would both get so scared, they would have to sleep with their parents at night, clutching cross figurines and bits of garlic close to them.

"Will you stop _shaking_ so much?" Albel snapped, clutching the boy's ragged shirt in his fist and lifting his head from the pillow to stare at him. "Such a curious maggot."

The blue-haired boy shut his eyes and focused on calming down. He almost found it impossible, until he heard Albel's breathing regulate beside him. As soon as the man was asleep, he managed to relax, and even moved a little closer, curling up against the Wicked One.

As he thought about it, he found Albel was quite the "curious maggot" himself. He seemed to be as cold as the snow falling from the sky on the inside, but he was awfully warm on the outside. It was better than sleeping alone, with emptiness all around.


	4. To Reclaim the Captain

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 3) X**

**T**he next morning, Fayt Leingod found himself trapped. That is to say, he was held quite firmly by someone he almost forgot was there, and therefore was quite alarmed at first, had his memory not jogged itself before he could issue a scream of fright. He soon recalled the cold night before, and Albel - strange, strange man, he was - insisting on sharing the bed with him. It wasn't that he _minded_ (for he was quite warm and comfortable, nestled against the swordsman's chest that way), but it was still... well, awkward. Carefully, so as not to wake his guest, Fayt wriggled one arm free of the blankets, and felt goosebumps rise on his skin immediately. It was _damned_ cold, and he soon found he was in no rush to leave the cozy bed. Still, judging from the position of the sun, it was very, very early in the morning which meant one thing: Evia was coming for breakfast in a matter of minutes.

At the rate of molasses sliding uphill rather than down it, Fayt freed himself of Albel's arm, which was wrapped around his middle, and squirmed from the blankets, wincing as the cold, wood floor sent shivers from his feet all the way up to the back of his neck. He made sure to tuck the Wicked One under the covers appropriately before he padded down the stairs and into the small kitchen. "What do I make today?" he wondered aloud as he peered into the makeshift refrigerator. Most of his food he had used to make dinner, and was running low on supplies. After searching the cupboards, he happened to find a sack containing supplies needed to make a suitable loaf of bread, and so that is what he made. "Two places to set, or three?" he wondered. Did Albel even get up so early, or was he a late sleeper? So many things he didn't know about his guest.

Before he could make up his mind, the door swung open, and in danced a rather giddy Evia. Fayt was amazed to see a sullen Dion trailing behind him. "Good morning, Loverboy!" the former chirped, clapping his hands together. He peered about the kitchen, then asked, "Where's your sexy beast of a visitor? I want Dion to meet him!"

Dion, during these times of war, was a very serious and even more schedule-bound young man. He dressed just as the other Castle Aquaria researchers did, sporting long, black hair and a pair of tiny spectacles that rested on the end of his nose. At his mention, he adjusted said glasses, and looked about as well. "Er, yes. Evia seems to believe you have Albel the Wicked - heaven help him - of all people under your roof." His tone suggested that the idea was absolutely nonsensical.

The blue-haired boy wasn't exactly sure how to explain to his friend that he really did have Albel staying with him, though not exactly by choice on either part. Fayt was sure that if the hot-headed man could have left, he would have by now. The only things stopping him were his injuries, and the fact that he was under the impression that he was in Kirlsa. "I, uh..."

Evia let out a gasp before Fayt could come up with his explaination, and pointed a finger past his younger friend to the stairwell. "There, see? I told you! There he is!" he cried, as if he had spotted a rare animal during a safari. "Handsome, isn't he?" And here a dreamy sigh escaped his lips. Dion and Fayt both looked up, and a stunned silence seemed to settle over the miniscule kitchen.

The Wicked One was barely halfway down the stairs, gripping the railing tightly to aid him in his journey, when he stopped to stare back, peering briefly into one pair of eyes at a time before looking at them as a whole. Confusion wrote itself all over his face. "...What are you staring at, fools?" he snapped, proceeding down the rest of the flight. "I haven't done anything. So what's with the looks?"

Fayt merely reddened in embarassment and looked back at his friends. Evia looked fit to explode, chewing his fingernails while he stared with no thought to how impolite it was of him to look so expectantly at Albel, as if waiting to recieve from him a gift like no other. But what was worst was Dion. It was hard to tell just what the scholar was thinking and feeling, his mouth slightly agape, eyebrows arched and eyes the size of tea saucers. He seemed to stammer an incomprehensible syllable, one that he may never let become an actual word, let alone part of a sentence.

"Dion, this," Fayt took it upon himself to say, "Is Albel Nox. Albel, this is--"

"I don't _care_ what the maggot's name is," Albel interrupted, one hand on his hip. He glowered intimidating at the two dark-haired boys, one after another, back and forth, in hopes they would eventually back off and stop gawking. "Just get him to look elsewhere, for fuck's sake."

The blue-haired boy's ears and cheeks reddened even further at the wicked swordsman's choice of words. He looked desperately at Dion, hoping he would regain his senses, and sure enough, he did. His clear, black eyes darted to the floor, and he cleared his throat sharply before commenting, "S-Such an extensive vocabulary. Her Majesty would be impressed, even."

It was as if a lightning bolt had struck Fayt inside his head. Hadn't Dion sense enough not to mention things like that to an enemy, let alone one who didn't realize where he was? Of course, he forgot at the time that none of his friends knew anything of the facade. All he could do was pray that Albel wouldn't catch that obvious clue. Before a word could be uttered, Evia saved the day once again: "Whatever! Enough about that, let's talk about how _sexy_ you are, Albel!"

Albel merely produced a sound in his throat equivalent to that of a cat that had stepped in a puddle and sat down at the table. Fayt, finally remembering to breathe, exhaled and went to fetch the bread. He tried to sound as casual as possible when he asked, "Dion, would you like to stay for breakfast? I'm afraid it's not much, but I'd be happy to have y--"

"...No." It was unlike Dion to interrupt someone while they were speaking; he was just more polite than anyone else in the room. But the bespectacled man seemed to be very alarmed by the events that had just transpired, and took a small, uncertain step toward the door. When he realized how rude he had been, he blinked hard, and corrected himself, "I have to decline, I'm very busy. Th-Things to see, people to do..."

There was a momentary pause, during which time everyone let sink in the mistake Dion had made. Evia was the first to laugh outright - or more like, burst out laughing and crack up, nearly falling onto the table. "Oh, good one, Dion! I _like_ that!" he giggled, wiping tears from his eyes. Even Fayt had to chuckle some. Albel offered something of a smirk, and shook his head.

"Y-Yes," was all Dion could manage. He blushed, humiliated, and turned away, running out the door without a farewell. This didn't seem to bother the three that remained very much - especially not Evia, for he seemed to never get over the hilarity of Dion making such a silly mistake.

**X**

The routine went on for weeks, over which span of time Albel's injuries healed completely. In the mornings, Fayt would rise first and make breakfast, Evia would show up soon enough, and Albel would join them just in time to partake of the meal (usually. There were mornings when the swordsman didn't show up, much to the disappointment of a certain fruity, dark-haired boy). During the day, Fayt scavenged, cleaned, andpieced bits of metal and glass together to make dishes and other useful items, and Albel would often be nearby. The two would talk some, but there was never a whole lot for one to say to the other. Again, Albel was never to leave the house. His skin was becoming much more pale, having not felt the sun's rays on it in so long. At night, Albel eventually took to helping Fayt prepare dinner, then they would eat, with Evia, of course. Sometimes, after Evia left, Fayt would light a fire if there was enough kindling, and the two would sit in front of it, staring into the flames in comfortable silence. Then at bedtime, the blue-haired boy became accustomed to being dragged into bed with his guest.

It seemed as if the circle of routine would be the same for all eternity, until the day the Black Brigade came in search of their Captain.

They did not come unprepared for a real battle at the gates of Aquois - when the Brigade appeared on the horizon, they were well-armed and hungry for war, packing even a few dragon-riding soldiers. The Symbologists rushed out to the bridge to meet their opponent before they arrived, knowing it would be a close scrape before it had even begun. Nearly all the units were employed - except, that is, for Nel. Instead of moving to her assigned position on the front line, she ran to Fayt's house.

The incessant, frantic banging on the door woke both Fayt and Albel with a start. Fayt tumbled from the bed, tangled in the blanket, but shook himself loose and bolted to the door, flinging it open. "Nel! What in the _world_ is the matter with you? It's three in the mo--"

"Fayt, you need to send Albel away from here!" Nel insisted, terror evident in her eyes once more, just like when she had first set eyes on the Wicked One. "He can't stay here anymore. Blindfold him and turn him loose in the wilderness - I don't care! Get him out, now!"

Bleary-eyed and swaying on his feet, the blue-haired boy was beyond dumbfounded. He stifled a yawn. "What for? I know you don't like him, but..."

"No, Fayt, that's not it! The Black Brigade is here, all of them! They have dragons. We're not prepared to fight them," Nel explained hastily, speaking so fast that the boy had trouble deciphering it all. "Send Albel out of here!"

"But I can't!" Realization had finally dawned on the boy, and as worried as he was for his homeland, he did not want to set the wicked swordsman loose and never see him again. They had become attached, ever so slightly, in the past weeks, though neither would ever admit it. "He's... he's still too hurt to make it on his own!" A downright lie and he knew it; still, he had to try.

Nel heaved a great sigh, and placed her head in her hand. "Fayt, this is selfish. If we don't hand him over, they'll destroy us in an instant. We just can't take all those soldiers at once!"

"How do you know that giving Albel back to them will turn them around?" Fayt retorted. "Didn't you yourself say that he was a monster, and would kill us all if he found out where he was?"

"Yes, but I--"

"Then giving him back would be adding salt to the wound! They wouldn't turn away; it would assure them victory!"

The both of them stood in anxious silence. Finally, Nel said, "Then what do we do, Fayt? If you're so clever, help me think. They won't leave, and yet we can't fight them. What do we do?"

Fayt opened his mouth to speak, only to feel a sudden tap on his shoulder. He nearly screamed, and jumped five feet in the air, whirling to meet Albel's confused and sleepy gaze. "Wot's goin' on?" the swordsman grumbled. The boy found it a blessing that he hadn't picked up on the conversation between he and Nel.

The red-headed woman gave Albel the usual look of utter contempt, and nervously tapped her foot. "They're coming closer, Fayt... we have to do something!"

"A...Albel." Fayt peered up at his... well, almost friend. "I need you to come help me with something."

"Whazzat?" Albel replied sleepily, rubbing at a garnet eye.

Fayt and Nel looked at each other for a moment. "I need you to... come outside and help me... find Evia. He's... he's er, missing."

The Wicked One said nothing other than something like, 'mfrrffmn.' It didn't seem like he was very awake at all; at least, not enough to comprehend most of what was going on. Nel shot her friend a look clearly asking him what the _hell_ he was thinking, but said nothing. "Will you help me, Albel?"

"Yeashur," came the tired reply. Without another word on the matter, Fayt seized the swordsman's arm and pulled him in a fast walk from the house and up the backroads that led to the exit of the city.

"Oh, dear Apris," he murmured softly to himself in prayer as they slunk through the night toward the battle taking place on the bridge, "Please... _please_ let this work."


	5. Cherades

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 4) X**

**B**attle cries and swords clanking, as well as other sounds of war, could be heard all the way from the gate of Peterny, which was where Fayt had led Albel. The swordsman was still barely awake, although he seemed to slowly realize that he was outside, and that he was very, very cold in the winter night air. Once they reached the gate, having snuck around the entire battle, Fayt merely stood there panting, thinking, not even sure if what he had in mind would work.

"What the hell is going on?" Albel finally demanded, turning to glare at the blue-haired boy. He was freezing, and it was too dark to really see where he was. It didn't seem like it was Kirlsa at all, however.

The younger boy swallowed hard and met the garnet glare cast down on him. "Evia's missing, remember? You're helping me find him." Realization dawned on the older man, as it showed on his pale face, and Fayt took that to mean that his explaination would do for the time being. But the problem of the ongoing battle still existed: how would Albel be able to help him drive off the Black Brigade without being caught? He finally came up with the most mundane idea: "Albel, I need you to yell hey as loud as you can."

"...Hey?" the Wicked One grumbled, cocking an eyebrow. It didn't make any sense to him until he thought about it more, and decided that Fayt didn't know anything about finding missing people. Instead of arguing, or doing it his own way (for he was still too tired to bother), he merely gave in and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Heeeeey!"

His voice rose well over the sounds of battle in the distance and echoed for miles away. The two stood in silence, waiting. "Do it again," Fayt instructed, turning his head upward to look at Albel, who did as he was told and shouted hey again, louder than before. After a moment's consideration, Fayt took a deep breath and shouted, "Albel and I are over here!"

Again, they waited in silence. Albel glanced toward the nervous-looking blue-haired boy and frowned. "I don't think it's working. And what's all that racket out there?"

"Don't worry about that," Fayt said hastily, in perhaps the most self-assured tone he had ever used with the Wicked One around. "Just keep yelling." Indeed they did, the two of them screaming at the top of their lungs into the night. Fayt made sure to be quieter than Albel, so that the soldiers would hear his voice better.

Suddenly, after a few moments of incessant yelling, there was complete and total silence. No one in Peterny stirred; Fayt and Albel pursed their lips in anxious wait; the clanking and hollering over the hills ceased. A dragon soared overhead. Not even a cricket chirped, nor did a single nightengale whistle a shrill tune in flight. Then, out of the dark, the light of torches held by marching figures came into sight.

Fayt's blood ran cold once more, although it could have been attributed to the biting winter breeze. The Brigade had made an about-face and was coming their way. They had succeeded! But how would they get away? If they continued to stand there, someone would spot them and Albel would return to being the merciless captain sure to destroy them all. On the other hand, they couldn't turn and flee through Peterny, and they couldn't return to Aquios - that would be a dead giveaway that Albel was being lied to, and maybe he would turn and kill everyone on his own.

"Who are those people?" Albel questioned, now fully awake, and fully confused. It had to be at least three-thirty or four in the morning by now, and his internal clock was going crazy. He looked down at the blue-haired boy when he didn't answer right away, only to have his arm snatched quite suddenly. "Wha--?"

"Run, Albel!" Fayt shouted, turning tail and running right into Peterny. He was risking a terrible lot by doing this, and could only pray that the dark night would help hide the trading town from the wicked swordsman's eyes. The two of them hurried into the center, then turned down the east street. An alley on the right looked like a good enough place to hide, so the boy pulled Albel back and pressed him against the wall, clamping a hand over his mouth to prevent him from asking a bunch of questions.

Huddled against the wall of the alley, the sound of many, many people in armor rushing by was all they could hear, other than their own heavy breathing. The soldiers would mutter things like, "The Captain is this way!" and, "He must be in Surferio!" as they passed. Finally, after what seemed forever, the noise fell away, and they were left in silence again. Fayt took his hand off Albel's mouth and moved away from him, blushing hotly with the realization that he had pushed his body right against the swordsman's to keep him from moving.

Albel seemed to be baffled, even stunned, beyond words for the longest time. Finally, he snapped, "What the _hell_ was that all about! Where are we? This is _not_ Kirlsa!"

The blue-haired youth winced. He supposed it was stupid and presumptuous of him to think that Albel wouldn't realize that they weren't in the mining town after all, yet he was still hit with shock. "It... we're... I, uh..." His words failed him when he needed them most. All he could do was watch in shame as Albel stepped from the alley, looking around and calculating his surroundings. His green-eyed gaze dropped to the ground when the Wicked One came back to the alley.

"Peterny." That was all Albel had to say, and Fayt felt tears well up in his eyes. He just knew it: Albel had figured everything out and was going to sink those horrible claws deep into his throat until he was thoroughly blue in the face, call him a disgusting, lying maggot, and leave him there to bleed to death. _Well,_ he thought with a hard swallow, _I'll just have to face it head-on_.

Fayt lifted his head to meet Albel's stare, and was amazed to find a look of concerned worry on his face, rather than the anger he had expected to see. "Wh-what?" the boy murmured, staring right into the ruby eyes, unable to look away despite how badly he wanted to. "Why... are you looking at me that way?" His cheeks reddened, beyond his control as usual.

"The distance between Kirlsa and Peterny is pretty far," Albel said, not answering the boy's questions right away, "Just what is going on with Evia? Why would he go this far away? And were those guards after him?"

A giant weight was lifted from Fayt's chest. So Albel still hadn't figured it out yet. They were safe for now, or so he hoped. "I'm not sure," he said, trying to think as quickly on his feet as he could. "I only heard from Nel that he was missing, and ran out to look for him right away."

"I... see..."

"Mmhmm... I-I thought if I could find Evia before the guards did, I could find out what he had done and help him... or something... and I wanted you to come, too... because... I..."

Fayt couldn't even finish his sentence; he was too nervous, and his teeth were chattering too violently. Behind the cloak of night, the boy's entire face was red, and his lips were beginning to turn blue. Albel seemed to be able to see right through the dark, and his eyebrows furrowed some. "Whatever, shut up. Let's find the inn. You'll freeze to death before you can finish explaining everything to me."

Somehow, Fayt felt unnerved by the way the Wicked One had worded the last part of that sentence, but decided to put the thought aside for the moment. He nodded and stumbled shakily from the alley with numb feet and legs. As if only to make things harder for him, a heavy, snowflake-filled gust picked up, nearly knocking the blue-haired boy over. Albel gently pushed him along, all the way through the town center and down the west street until they reached the inn.

Thankfully, the building was relatively warm - warmer than Fayt's house in Aquios, anyway. Albel left Fayt standing near the door to go book a room, then returned after a bit of negotiating. "Come on, fool," he murmured, motioning for the blue-haired boy to follow as he moved down the hall. Their room was the third on the left.

"Oh," Fayt said as they entered, before he could stop himself. As he observed, there were two beds, covered with several thick blankets. He glanced away to hide his disappointment, and crossed over to the bed closest to the window.

"Oh? Oh, what?" The Wicked One asked, sitting down on the second bed, one leg crossed over the other. "Is this not satisfactory? It's far better than where _you_ live, that's for sure."

The boy lowered his eyes. "Oh, no, it's not that... it was... Oh, as in, 'Oh, this is so great!' You know?" Albel said nothing, kicking his boots off, wriggling from his shirt, and burrowing deep under the blankets, just as he did every night. _Only this time_, Fayt thought with a slight twinge in his heart, _he won't stretch out his arms and tell me to 'come lay down, whether I like it or not.'_

"I see," the wicked swordsman finally said, after he was nice and comfortable. "Do you plan on going to sleep any time soon? Or would you rather explain to me what is going on first?"

Fayt considered. He was tired, still rather cold, and going through a cycle of feelings like he'd never been through before. "There isn't much to explain... Nel didn't tell me anything."

"Then what do you _think_ happened? And how did we manage to get to Peterny before sunup? Even the fastest runners on foot could not get from Kirlsa to Peterny that fast." Albel glanced toward Fayt, a strange glint in his eye that the boy noticed and did not like in the slightest.

The blue-haired youth paused to think, deciding that it would be okay for him to do so. "Well, maybe it's because we--"

"Maybe it's because we didn't come from Kirlsa at all?" Albel interrupted, propping himself up on his elbows. Fayt was too stunned to say anything, and merely stared with his mouth open at the older man. "Why look so surprised, maggot? I knew all along where we were."

"K-Kirlsa!" Fayt choked out, a last-ditch attempt to keep the secret going. He opened his mouth to spew more lies, but was dead silenced by the slightest glare from Albel.

"Not Kirlsa. Aquios." Now sitting up all the way, Albel bent his knees and rested his arms on them, never once looking away from Fayt. "Do you really think I'm _that_ stupid? That I wouldn't glance out the window every now and then? It's not like I haven't seen Aquios before, fool. I knew as soon as I looked outside where I was." Fayt found himself unable to speak, due to a growing lump in his throat. "And what's more, you are... the _shittiest_ liar I have ever met."

Again, Fayt felt tears welling up, but forced back them with all his might. He was already being made an idiot - crying would only make him look worse. "Why... didn't you say anything? Or fight me and leave, or sneak off, or anything?" he bursted suddenly, face growing red with anger and embarassment. "Why did you stay and... and _humor_ me like that? And was everything you did just a cherade?"

"Everything _I_ did? Listen to you talk! What in the world are you going on about, maggot?"

"All that... making me sleep with you, and being nice to me on the occasion, and... everything!"

Albel the Wicked's expression was indecipherable. He continued staring at the outraged boy, even when he had looked away to force his tears back down. Opening his mouth to speak, he stopped before uttering a word, and merely kicked the blankets off his legs, sliding to the floor.

Fayt, who was turned away at the time, took the silence as one would take a slap to the face. His breath hitched several times, and he swallowed hard repeatedly, fighting to the bitter end against his crying fit. In truth, he wasn't sure what it was that was going to make him cry, but he somehow felt that it had nothing to do with discovering that Albel knew he was lying all along. But if it wasn't that, what was it?

_I'm not afraid that he's going to kill me,_ Fayt thought, knowing that at there was at least _some_ truth left inside him. _But then why... why am I crying?_

The blue-haired youth hadn't the time to finish his thoughts before Albel spun him around by the shoulder. With one of those tapiring metal claws his chin was tilted upward, so he had no choice but to face the older man and stare headlong into those slitted, garnet eyes. "What are you snivelling about?" the wicked swordsman demanded, staring contemptuously at the tears on Fayt's face.

"I..." Fayt hesitated. He still couldn't figure out what he was crying for. Ever since that day in the field, when he had first felt that he ought to spare Albel for the sake of doing what his family would have wanted him to do, it was as if the Wicked One had meant just a little more to him than a guest deposited practically at his doorstep courtesy serendipity. Yet here he was, many months later, and he didn't understand his feelings. "I don't know."

Albel continued to merely glare at him, holding his chin up with an extended claw. The blue-haired boy almost felt that he should ask, why was he being stared at, or why wasn't he being torn to shreds yet? But he couldn't even manage to open his mouth, let alone get any words out. All he was capable of was staring straight into the red eyes, and nowhere else.

"Was this your way of protecting your country?" Albel questioned, sounding as if he were striking up a casual livingroom conversation. "Of defending your friends, or maybe even saving your own skin?" He paused, simply _daring_ Fayt to try answering any of those questions. "Or was it... to uphold your family's honor?"

Icy daggers stabbed at Fayt's stomach, then turned into an giant, icy snake and wrapped around his heart, squeezing it so that he thought he might never breathe. How in the name of Apris did he know all this? He was either a psychic, a detective, or a spy. It wasn't possible for someone to be _that_ obvious, was it? _Am I really that readable?_

The Wicked One took Fayt's silence for an answer. He moved his hand away, letting the boy's chin go. "Yes, the Leingods, I remember them... and the Esteeds as well." The Captain of the Black Brigade gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Only a few years ago, wasn't it? Just before sundown, the Brigade stormed Aquios and--"

"Stop!" Simply bawling by now, Fayt could take no more of the conversation. "Yes, okay? Yes. ...Nel... told me who you were, and what you did to my family." Head hung, the blue-haired boy's shoulders shook heavily as he cried. "But I let you live, because..."

"There is no avengement in killing a killer?"

"...Yes..." Fayt swallowed hard. "But now I'm..."

"Sorry that you let me live?"

"No, I'm afraid to let you go, because I know if you go back, you'll only kill again." Fayt lifted his head, paying no mind to the streaming tears or the lump in his throat anymore. "That's why I kept you like that. Caged up like... some animal. ...I didn't want you to go."

Albel smiled wryly, but said nothing, going back to staring at Fayt. He was interested to find that the boy was staring right back; he hadn't thought the fool was strong enough to do even that. He lifted his eyebrows, as if urging the youth to go on.

"And once I had started all the cherades... and lies... I had to go on with them. Everyone kept saying you would kill me if you found out what I was doing, but I just went on with it..." It slowly became evident to Fayt that he was rambling, and he swallowed hard, squaring his shoulders. "Albel... I'm sorry."

"That's all I was looking to hear," the Wicked One admitted calmly, sitting down on his bed and situating himself under the covers as if nothing had happened.

"What, an apology?"

"M'hm, for months now, fool."

Fayt lowered his head again, aware that he had stopped crying. "Sorry..."

"That's enough. Go to sleep already. We return to Aquios in the morning."

The blue-haired boy had to wonder if that was a safe idea, but was too tired, cold, and riled up over all the events that had taken place to really think about it. He decided to just trust the wicked swordsman for now, and see where that got him later. Rolling over on his side, he pulled the blankets up to his chin and shut his eyes, feeling incredibly out-of-place laying there by himself. "G'night, Albel..."

When Albel didn't answer, he figured that the older man had to be asleep already, and uttered a soft, unhappy sigh, closing his eyes. For hours upon hours he remained that way; eyes closed, laying there as still as can be, but stuck in limbo between awake and asleep. Finally when he heard birds twittering outside he forced his eyes open. The sun wasn't up at all yet, but the morning birds were already rising. It had to be four, maybe five in the morning.

Fayt rolled over to look at Albel, and found his eyes stuck there. With a soft, _hmph,_ the boy quietly rose from his bed and crept over to the swordsman's, peering warily at him before slipping beside him beneath the blankets. Albel muttered softly in his sleep and shifted, just enough for Fayt to wriggle into his arms and remain there for the time. As soon as he had nuzzled close to Albel he fell asleep, feeling quite complete indeed.

The sun had barely begun to rise when Albel woke, and noticed with a start that he was holding a softly purring Fayt in his arms. As seemed to be the trend that whole day, all he could do was stare. "...Foolish maggot..." he murmured at length, resting his cheek against the top of the blue-haired head beneath him, and shut his eyes. A few more hours of sleep wouldn't hurt... no... just a little longer would be alright.


	6. Natural Warmth

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 5) X**

_Before you read, I'd love if you'd take a sec to listen to my author's note, the link for which can be found on my profile. 8D_

**X**

**F**ayt found himself strangely cold when he woke. Even if the hotel was fairly well-heated and the bed supplied with thermal blankets, there was a natural warmth that he had grown so accustomed to in the past few weeks that he realized right away was missing. There was no Albel with his arm around him, holding him close, sharing heat and keeping him safe. Alarm spread through his body quickly and made his blood run frigid, making him feel even colder. He sat up, looking this way and that, not caring when the blanket slipped off him and landed in his lap. Screw the blanket. Where was Albel? The wicked swordsman was nowhere in sight and this fact made the blue-haired youth panic.

Could it be that Albel realized he didn't have to beat around the bush anymore and escaped? That was the most likely thing in Fayt's mind. Where else would he have gone? Surely he figured out what the events of the previous night were all about and had left to go join the Black Brigade. This meant that he would turn the troops around and lead them to attack Aquios… therefore making the possible destruction of his home all his fault! The youth nearly choked at the notion of such a thing. All his friends… his home… everything… gone? Because of him and his selfish desire to keep Albel by his side? No…!

"Albel? Where are you?!" he cried out into the still room, head turning from side to side rapidly. In his haste to scramble from the bed, his leg got caught in the blanket, and he instead fell on his face on the floor, kicking wildly to free himself. "Albel! Albel!!" he shouted again and again, voice muffled a little from having his mouth nearly touching the floor. At this rate he would alarm the other patrons in the inn. But he didn't care, he really didn't – maybe if he kept yelling Albel would hear him, or someone who recognized the name could tell him that they saw him leave and point out which direction he had gone, or… or…

A sudden pressure on his back caused Fayt to yelp and freeze in place, no longer kicking his legs in attempts to be free of the tangled blanket. The weight wasn't enough to hurt him, only to hold him still. Turning his head some, he glimpsed a small flash of purple before dropping his forehead against the floor. "Maggot, what the hell is your problem?" a familiar voice barked at him, seemingly only off to Fayt's left some, "Are you trying to wake the whole damned city? Because you're doing a fine job of it!"

"Oh, Albel…" Fayt murmured, relieved. The wicked swordsman was still there. He and his life as he knew it were safe… hopefully. Although Albel hadn't seemed as though he was mad after he had apologized last night, the youth found himself wondering if he wasn't simply acting that way to get the boy to relax. The swordsman was stepping down on his back. Was he going to die now?

"What?" the swordsman replied, taking his boot from the small of Fayt's back and moving away. "Fool, I've been here the entire time. I was standing by the window. Didn't you see me?"

"No," Fayt admitted with a bit of an embarrassed blush. He untangled his legs from the blanket then sat up, stretching a little. "I thought that maybe…"

"… I'd run off while you slept?"

"Well, yeah. … Why didn't you?" Not that he would ever want such a thing, but Fayt found himself curious as to why the older man hadn't taken the opportunity.

For a short time Albel was silent, and simply made his way back to the window, pushing the curtains to the side some so that he could stare out into the city. By now it had to of been something like eight or nine in the morning and neither of them had gotten much sleep. It showed in the slightly haggard appearance both men possessed, and the bags under their eyes. Fayt's hair was a disaster – Albel's clothes were mussed. "Because I didn't feel like it," the wicked swordsman answered finally, peering at Fayt from the corner of his eye.

The answer surprised Fayt a little, though he couldn't place why. "Oh," he said simply, wrapping his arms around his knees and giving a little shiver. Between the two of them, there was silence. Albel continued to stare out the window as if there were something fascinating there, and the youth proceeded to peer around the room, noting the various things that were in it. This place had a bathroom with what he guessed was a shower – much more than what he had at home. "What are you looking at?" Fayt asked finally, turning his attention back to Albel. He hadn't moved an inch the entire time.

"Nothing." The swordsman's response was short and snappy, suggesting that he thought little of the question Fayt had asked and of answering it. The boy had become used to telling these things when speaking with Albel; when to press for more, when to lay off. When he was happy, when he was upset, and when it was a good time to leave the room lest some horrible violent thing take place. Really, the man wasn't as difficult to understand as he had initially thought. "Get ready. We're going back to Aquios."

Deep unease settled in Fayt's gut. He stood, chewing his bottom lip, and took a few tentative steps toward the wicked swordsman. Would have reached to touch his shoulder, but decided that now was not a good time to touch him. "What are we going to do there?" he asked softly, directing his gaze to the floor in case Albel turned to look at him.

"We're going to go back to your house. What the hell _else_ would we do there?" Albel replied harshly, rolling his garnet eyes. He still didn't bother to turn away from the window, even though he was getting very tired of watching people walk by.

"And… do… what there?" Fayt asked, bewildered. This certainly wasn't what he had expected at all. He had thought that Albel would either leave from Peterny and return to his command over the Black Brigade, or even go back to Airyglyph. And if they did go back to Aquios, he really hadn't expected that Albel would just want to hang out at his place. Not that there was anything worth doing there.

"Does it matter?! Stop asking so many stupid questions." Finally, Albel turned from the window and glowered at Fayt, although upon seeing that he was staring at the ground, the scowl died on his face and was replaced with a look that couldn't be easily deciphered. "… You're a bloody mess. Go take a shower," he commanded, pointing with his normal arm at the bathroom across the room.

The demand startled Fayt, and instead of questioning it or hesitating, he simply rushed into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. It had been a very long time since he'd last taken a shower. These contraptions were fairly new on Elicoor II, and his family had never had enough money to acquire one. Sophia's had, however, and every once in awhile he would be allowed to go over and use theirs. Otherwise, he used water from the well to clean of, when it wasn't frozen solid. And so, even though he felt as though something was wrong with the situation Albel had in mind for the day, he was rather eager to try out the shower. Quickly undressing, he stepped into the contraption and poked at the knob there before realizing that it had to be turned, then did so, looking up at the faucet from which water was supposed to come expectantly.

After a short wait, water began spraying from the faucet, and Fayt found it highly fascinating… or would have, had it not been freezing cold. He stood stock-still under the steady stream of frigid water, too stunned at first to react. Then he leapt away from the spray, letting out a startled yell, and another when he slipped on the floor of the shower and ended up on his back, cold water hitting his body and face.

No sooner had he cried out a third time did the bathroom door fly open, and Albel, rather alarmed himself, stood in the threshold, claws of his gauntlet bared as if there were something in the room that was going to be killed. "What is it?!" he demanded, turning to look at the shower. There was no door on the shower – no curtains, nothing to stop anyone from simply looking over and seeing whoever was in it. So when the wicked swordsman looked, what he saw was the blue-haired youth belly-up on the shower floor, kicking and flailing and screaming, nearly choking on the shower water that was spraying him in the face, completely nude, and beginning to turn blue from the cold. "Oh, for the love of—!" he growled, stomping over to the dial on the shower. He wrenched it to the right, causing the water to slowly heat up, and as it did so, Fayt relaxed, shuddering as the cold left his body and was replaced by comfortable heat.

However, the boy's calm lasted a very short time, as he became aware of the fact that Albel was standing there, practically staring at him. He produced a sound akin to a squeak – something he hadn't even known he could do – and curled into something of a ball in attempts to hide from the swordsman. "Do you mind!?" was all he could manage to say.

"No," Albel responded simply, resting his hand on his hip. "What kind of stupid maggot are you? Don't you know how to use a shower at all? You'd best be thanking your goddess that I was here; otherwise you would have frozen to death! Fool…"

Blushing wildly, Fayt curled further into his ball, almost feeling as though he could cry. He had never thought of himself as shy, but then again, he had never thought about how he would feel if a grown man that was not only a potential enemy, but a potential friend, saw him naked. "I'm kind of not decent right now, you know!" he choked out, doing his best to glare at Albel. "H-Hey! Quit staring!"

"I'm not _staring_," Albel insisted, though his eyes did grow slightly larger. The faintest trace of red touched his cheeks and he turned away, growling in an animalistic way.

"Yes you were!" Fayt hissed, getting to his feet only after Albel had turned away. He was still a little uneasy, however, and pressed back against one of the shower walls, wishing he could disappear into it. "I didn't think you were such a pervert, Albel!"

"I'm not a fucking pervert!" the wicked swordsman snapped back, whirling back around to scowl at Fayt, regardless of the fact that the boy was standing and completely exposed. He was a tad embarrassed at the sight, himself, but was too offended to give a damn. "You know what, though, fool, I haven't heard you tell me to _get out_ yet. So you must want me here!"

The youth recoiled from Albel's gaze, doing his best to cover up. At the accusation, however, he glared, moving toward the older man rather than away from him. "That's a stupid assumption! Why the heck would I want some guy in here when I'm trying to take a shower?!"

"I don't know, you're the one who does! So you tell me!" Albel taunted, moving closer to the shower and leaning forward, sneering.

"I _do not_!" Fayt hissed, moving forward some as well and leaning in the direction of the swordsman.

"Then tell me to get out!"

"Fine! I will!"

"Okay, maggot. I'm waiting!"

For a moment Fayt simply stood there, trying his best to be like Albel. Trying to make his eyes pierce into the other man's, trying to look intimidating. More than once, the swordsman had been able to scare him away by simply glaring at him. If Albel could do it, well, then so could he! However, the longer he stared, the more he became aware of how close they were leaning toward one another. His expression softened without his realizing it, and his gaze began to wander down, away from Albel's eyes and instead lingered on his lips. For some reason, he began to think that they looked awfully… inviting? What kind of a weird thought was that to have about another guy? Regardless of how strange it was, it was how he felt…

"Well?!" Albel snapped. As Fayt's gaze began to drift away, he raised an eyebrow, following the pair of green eyes and watching to see where he was looking. At his lips? How stupid. What a stupid, naïve maggot. The swordsman knew immediately what he wanted, but wasn't about to give it to him. No, it was much more fun to taunt him. He pursed his lips some, looking sullen.

Fayt noticed this and looked back up with wide eyes at Albel's, face reddening. The older man's ruby gaze said simply, _make your move, fool_. It was almost as if Albel had said it out loud. He could hear the taunt in his head, loud and clear. _Make your move._ There was no way he was going to be teased this way! Leaning further forward, he closed the gap between their mouths with a soft noise. _Check, Albel._

Surprisingly, Albel gave no hesitation in returning the kiss, even going so far as to be rough about it. He gave a soft snarl, lifting the hand without a gauntlet on it to run a hand through blue locks, and then seize a handful of it, effectively holding his head in place and, after a moment, pulling him deeper into the kiss. It was clear the swordsman was no novice at this, and the expertise, as well as the viciousness of it, was enough to scare Fayt into struggling a little, then pulling away when the other man released him. The youth stumbled back, staring with wide eyes at Albel, face beet red. Anything he could possibly think to say died on his lips before he could get it out. As for the wicked swordsman – he acted as if there was nothing to say about it at all, smirking a little.

"D-Did you have to be so rough?" Fayt asked finally, pursing his lips a little. He could still taste Albel's there, though if there was a 'flavor' he couldn't place what it could possibly be. It wasn't that it was his first kiss – he and Sophia had pecked once, just out of curiosity, and Evia had smooched him once or twice in a playful sort of way – but he was still a beginner at it and certainly wasn't ready for something so violent.

"Don't be such a wuss," Albel snorted in reply, waving the hand that had previously been tangled in Fayt's hair. He thought for a moment, however, and then used that hand to motion Fayt closer. "Come here."

The youth hesitated, but inched toward the older man, wondering what he had in mind. Maybe this time he would bite him? Ever since they had met, it had been a perpetual fear of him. He had caught a glimpse of Albel's teeth before and was a hundred percent sure he had fangs. The last thing he wanted was to be bitten… but before he could expression confusion or hesitance, the swordsman had caught his lips in a second kiss – this one much softer and pleasant than the first.

He found himself falling headlong into it, even moaning a little against Albel's lips. Yes, he liked this much better. Staggering some, the youth brought his arms around Albel's neck for support, shivering when he felt the light brush of a tongue on his lower lip. This felt… almost too good. But he didn't really want it to stop. Not to mention this was the first time he had ever felt Albel do anything gentle. Even when he pulled him to bed each night, the way he draped his arm around him and cuddled him was… rough. The way he spoke was rough. But this… this was nice.

The reverie ended when Albel began pulling away, slowly, stopping only after their lips no longer touched. Fayt could hardly look at the other man despite how close they were still, wondering if maybe his head would explode from the massive rush of blood going to it. "A-Albel…" he said in barely a whisper, though the word was nearly lost over the running water behind him. He felt desperate for more, but didn't have the nerve to ask, and had no idea how to signal to the other man what he wanted. It seemed that Albel already knew, however, for he gave the faintest laugh, stepping back from the shower.

"Move aside," he commanded, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Fayt watched in stunned silence as he removed it, and slowly began to understand what the other man meant to do. He obediently stumbled to the back of the shower, shivering even though the heat of the water was still strong. No matter how much he tried not to stare, mouth agape as Albel undressed, it was impossible to turn away. Then the swordsman stepped into the shower, smirking a little, and moved toward him.

**X**

Fayt had never felt so glad to be home when he and Albel came into his home in Aquios. The entire way home, he had remained attached to the older man's arm, clasping his hand, and they had talked. It was an amazing thing, really, listening to the captain of the Black Brigade hold a conversation. But the swordsman had a surprisingly lot to say, even if it took a bit of prompting to get him to say it. And the youth found himself profoundly attracted to every last word. Just the sound of his voice was enough to stir a sort of happy, fluttering feeling in his chest. One he'd never felt before.

When he pushed open the door, the blue-haired boy was immediately tackled by Evia, who proceeded to squeal something about, "Where were you?! I was _sooo_ worried! Nel said you left with Albel! I'm so glad you're okay! Oh, I'm so glad you brought the hottie back with you! I thought I'd never get to see him again!" The dark-haired youth squeezed his friend tightly, stopping either one of them from coming into the house.

"Ack! Evia! It's… it's a long story, okay? We were in Peterny, but we're okay and we're home now," Fayt attempted to explain over all Evia's yapping, patting the other boy's shoulder some. When that wasn't enough to get him off, he simply pried the older boy off and scrambled away before he could get clung to again. "I'm glad to see you too." He laughed some in spite of himself. There was a reason why Evia had been his friend for so long…

"Promise me you'll tell me every juicy detail later!" Evia insisted, dancing over to the table where he had made himself a snack of water and a few carrots. "I wanna know just what you did with the hottie!"

'The hottie' had become Albel's new name as far as Evia was concerned, and his mention caused the swordsman to simply grunt and move into the house, flexing the claws of his glove. He did this often when the dark-haired boy was in the area, for the desire to strangle something and rip it apart with his gauntlet was very strong during these times. Somehow he had managed to keep from doing this – maybe it was Fayt's influence.

"W-W-We didn't do anything!" Fayt squeaked, face immediately turning red. How did Evia know? Was he psychic too? How come everyone always knew what he was really up to, no matter what he did to keep it secret? Or had Evia followed them and saw the whole thing? No, that couldn't be possible. The other boy had to be just assuming things. Of course!

Evia simply shot his friend a lame look and folded his arms, one small half-eaten carrot poking out of the corner of his mouth. "Mmhm," he snorted, shaking his head. "You're so lucky, Fayt you've got the hottest of the hot to make it with and you _won't_!"

Abruptly, Albel gave a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "What?" Evia insisted, looking over at Albel instead. When the swordsman ignored him, he whined, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor. "Aww, hottie, tell me!"

"Shut up, maggot," the wicked swordsman hissed in response, and the topic was dropped, allowing Fayt to recover from his near heart attack. If Albel had spilled the beans about what they'd done in that shower, he wasn't sure he'd ever get to hear the end of it. Evia would freak for days straight. The dark-haired boy was always going on about how Fayt couldn't stay a virgin forever, but when he finally got over his sociopathy and did it, he wanted to be the first to know. Oh, boy.

"Gee so mean, mister hottie man. You break my heart!" Here Evia slapped a hand over his chest and pretended to cry, scuffing his shoe on the floor again. Then he tired of the act before it had really even begun and shook his head. "Fiiine. But Fayt, you better not keep me in the dark or I'll cry and tell Dion!" he threatened. After a few munches on his carrot, he moved toward the door and flipped his hair dramatically. "Speaking of whom, I'm going to go see him now! Bye-bye!" And off he went.

Albel rolled his eyes. "Good riddance. Why do you keep that fool around? Your maggot friends are… annoying."

Fayt didn't seem to have heard him, as he stood near the kitchen, staring off into space. Too busy recalling what had happened earlier. It was nothing like he'd even ever imagined before. _Amazing, _really, yet painful… incredible, yet frightening. Mostly he had never imagined that two men could have sex. Sure, Evia had explained it to him hundreds of times – "just so you'll know how to do it when the time comes!" – but it had never really sunk in. Especially not in that moment, when he had been so utterly confused and lost in the multiple waves of pleasure, and—

"_Fayt_! Dammit, answer me, would you?!" Albel snapped, waving a hand in front of the youth's face. The boy jumped, even gasped a little, and looked up at the other man, bewildered. How long had be been standing there trying to get his attention? It wasn't like him to daydream like that.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking away and blushing embarrassedly. "What is it? Do you need something?"

The wicked swordsman remained silent for awhile, simply studying the youth. Then he smiled – faintly, so that you really had to look to catch sight of it – and sifted his hand through Fayt's hair. "Were you thinking about earlier?"

_Why does everyone always know_…? Fayt began to think, face heating up even more. There was no point in wondering that anymore. No matter what, he guessed everyone just would. He leaned his head into the touches, eyelids drooping a little. "Yeah," he answered honestly, giving a little purr. Catlike, the way he loved being petted so much.

Albel snorted a little. "Liked it, huh," he asked, continuing to stroke the boy's hair. He looked like he was going to get sexual gratification out of just that. Poor, pathetic maggot. Must have been awfully neglected and pent up to be so sensitive.

"W-Well, yeah," the youth mumbled, shutting his eyes and leaning toward Albel until he simply stumbled against him and cuddled against his chest. No matter how scant the man's clothes were, he was always so warm… "Wasn't I supposed to like it?"

The older man gave no response. He simply scooped Fayt up in his arms and carried him off, careful not to let him hit his head on the walls as he trekked up the stairs. When he got to Fayt's bed he laid him down in it, then slipped in beside him and tugged him close, shutting his eyes. "It's going to be dark soon," he said quietly, clearly ready to fall asleep. "Let's get some rest."

"I'm not tired…" Fayt whined a little, though was not averse to nuzzling into Albel's neck and nosing at the skin there.

"Silence, fool…" the wicked swordsman snapped tiredly, giving a little shift and an upward tilt of his chin before drifting off. Although Fayt claimed to be wide awake, he found himself easily able to be lulled to sleep by listening to the steady beat of Albel's heart.

**X**

Fayt found himself strangely cold when he woke. There was a natural warmth he had grown so accustomed to in the past few weeks that he realized right away was missing. As he opened his emerald eyes to look around, he saw nothing but the darkness of night in his room, aside from a little moonlight filtering in through the window. The spot beside him where Albel always lay, nestled against him, was bare, the blankets rumpled as if he had tossed them aside when he got up. Unlike earlier that morning when he had feared the swordsman's disappearance, the youth assured himself that Albel had simply gone to the bathroom or to get a snack. After today, the older man wouldn't go anywhere. He had shown that in his actions and in his words.

Yet as Fayt lay there, time passed and what was once the five minutes he figured Albel would be soon turned into one hour, then two, with no sign of the other man. Since he could think up no reassuring excuse as to what Albel could be doing for two hours or more, he decided that he would have to go look. He peeked into the bathroom – no Albel. However, when he went into the kitchen to see if he had gone into make himself a snack and had simply fallen asleep at the table, he found a piece of paper on the table that hadn't been there before.

It was folded into fourths, the word _Fayt_ written in a messy scrawl on the front. Blinking, the blue-haired youth pulled back one of the chairs and stood in front of it, reaching for the paper, and unfolded it. There were only two words written on it, and those two words were enough to make Fayt fall back into the chair behind him, legs giving out from shock and disbelief. His mouth fell open, and his eyes watered, passing over the two words over and over as if they would change into something more comprehensible if he continued to read them. It only made him feel the full effects of what the note said even more.

In the same chicken-scratch handwriting that had formed the youth's name on the front of the paper, the inside read, _Goodbye. Albel._


	7. Specters of Feeling

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 6) X**

_Brief author's note (or, as brief as I can make it because I tend to ramble): Despite the promises on my recorded note – the link for which should still be on my profile – I have had a horrible, HORRIBLE time writing lately, and I'm sorry. But I'm overcoming my overwhelming hatred towards my own work and producing yet another chapter and, god willing, the rest of the story._

_I will say this: there are only three chapters left (four, if I decide whether or not I want to do an epilogue), this being the first of those. I know I can do it! Don't give up on me! And now, without further ado, here's Chapter 6 of In Love and War!_

**X**

**H**e was out the door and running, almost screaming and crying in his terror and pain, down the street, before he was truly aware of it. In Fayt's right hand he held the note with the three chicken-scratch words on it; the other hand was balled into a fist, and pumped back and forth at his side as he barreled down the main street of Aquios toward the castle. His breathing was ragged and uneven, despite that he had much stamina and hardly had far to go before reaching his destination. Several times he stumbled on the cobbled pavement and fell – once skinning his knees and palms, another time busting his lip bloody on the ground. As if they hadn't happened, Fayt ignored the injuries, simply scrambling onto his feet and running again. Nothing was going to stop him. He was too frantic and desperate, his heart pounding so fiercely that he found it odd – or would have, were he paying any attention – that it didn't wake the townsfolk with its rapid, drum-like tone.

At length he reached the long, steep steps of Castle Aquaria and staggered his way up them, slipping clumsily all the way. Two sleepy men in armor stood outside the large wooden entry doors, resting on their pikes and dozing in place. The sound of Fayt's frantic approach caused them to stir, and grumpily they rubbed their eyes and scowled at the boy who had interrupted their on-the-job nap. "What're you doing poking around here at this hour of the night, kid?" snapped the one on the left; short, stocky, and balding with a long moustache. "The castle is closed, so just bugger off!"

Fayt ran into the guard on the right, who was, in contrast to his partner, tall and lanky with long hair and a clean-shaven face. It was almost enough to throw the skinny man off balance, had he not had his pike to lean the weight on and catch himself. He shoved the blue-haired boy away and growled. "What're you trying to pull, huh? The castle is closed! Go home!"

The youth began to claw at the lanky guard's armored arm, grasping it, tugging it, shaking it back and forth. He sobbed, whined, and shouted, all incoherently, which startled the two men quite a bit. "Please!" Fayt managed to say clearly, though the rest of his words were mangled and only "Fayt Leingod," "Nel Zelpher," and "Emergency!" were the two older men capable of picking up.

"An emergency?" questioned the shorter guard, "What emergency for Nel could a civilian possibly have?"

"It can wait until morning, can't it? Nel is in her quarters, resting from the battle the other day."

Slowly and noticeably, the fight began to drain out of the boy. He hung his head and gave one last feeble shake of the tall guard's arm, tears cascading down his face and trickling from the tip of his nose. "Please…" he whispered softly, shoulders shaking. "I-I really, really need to see Nel… right away… please…"

Both guards exchanged long, baffled looks. Normally this sort of thing would have gone ignored, and they would have forced a civilian to make it wait until the morning. But there were two reasons as to why they said, at length, "Alright, come this way." One was that they were tired, and therefore discombobulated from being jerked out of their slumber so suddenly; the other was that Fayt's behavior, as well as the word "emergency" stirred a certain fear in them. There had been a vicious war right outside Aquios' gates only days before. If another attack could be prevented – and what other thing would be considered an urgency but that? – then by all means, neither guard would dream of hindering the possibility. The shorter guard remained outside to keep watch, and the taller, motioning with a gloved hand for Fayt to follow, led him past the heavy wooden entrance doors and down a long, grand hallway. As it was, the journey was very short, but in that minute amount of time, Fayt had managed to become riled up again.

His fist tightened on the piece of rumpled paper in his hand, and the reminder of its existence made him nearly hysterical again. Tears flooded his eyes once more, and his thoughts raced, faster and faster and faster, so that by the time Nel had opened her bedroom door, sleepy and bewildered, the youth was sobbing and writhing in place. Grievous murmurs and regretful wails escaped his lips and were all but shouted in Nel's face. Her eyes grew large and a long time passed where she simply stood there and stared. Finally, when she caught a break in her friend's crying, she asked, "Fayt, what's happened? What's wrong?"

"He's _gone_!" Fayt answered immediately, trembling, knees very near buckling as if he had cried himself into exhaustion already. "He left and he's gone forever and I don't know where--!"

"Who? Who's gone? Fayt, calm down and tell me what happened." Despite how worked up she felt inside, Nel kept a calm tone and a calm expression. Two panicking people during a crisis were bound to solve nothing, and she knew this well from experience. When Fayt took to sobbing and spluttering again, she looked him over, wondering if maybe he had been attacked, or mugged. Her eyes followed the gash in his lip, the skinned knees, the marks on his elbows and arms from falling… and the note in his hand caught her attention. "What is that?" she asked, pointing to it.

The youth paused just long enough to follow the gesture and see what she was pointing at, hiccupping, before he let out another long, pained wail. "He's _gone_!" he repeated, only this time, he thrust his hand out and deposited the note in Nel's hand. After doing so, he turned away a little and buried his hands in his face, breathing hard, snuffling. Trying desperately to calm himself, though it seemed to be of little use.

Very much like Fayt had, shock gripped at Nel the first time she read the two simple words, and she found herself scanning them over and over again, wondering if perhaps she had simply seen wrong in her fatigue the times before. A minute or so of this went by before the runologist was able to accept that she had indeed read correctly. Turning to the lanky guard, who henceforth had been standing beside the door at attention and looking on in confusion, she dismissed him, and then touched Fayt's shoulder. "Come inside. Tell me what happened." By this point, the blue-haired boy had quieted down, his sobs reduced to soft whimpers and the occasional sniffle. He kept his face in his hands and gave no acknowledgement of Nel. "Fayt," she said again. "Come inside."

At length Fayt looked up. Past Nel, into her room, his green eyes wide and bloodshot, still rimmed with tears. He shook his head. "I… I don't want to go inside."

"Alright," Nel responded, taken aback, "Then just tell me here. What happened?"

"He's gone," said Fayt.

"I know that. But why? What happened between you two? And when did he leave? Fayt, I need to know these things!"

The youth was clearly becoming agitated again. "Why?! He's gone, Nel, you have to do something about it!"

"I know I have to do something about it! I need to know if there was malice between you two, and how long ago! It could be that he will attack, and soon, and that attack could be stopped if there is enough information ahead of time. So tell me, Fayt. Did you fight?"

Fayt had become very silent at the word 'attack.' Even his sniffles and whimpers had died away, only tears fell silently and ran down his cheeks. His mouth opened and closed several times before he said, "No."

"There was no disagreement between you two?" asked Nel, raising one eyebrow.

"No."

"When did he leave?"

"I don't know," Fayt confessed, frustrated with himself for having to give such an answer. "I woke up and… he was gone." The boy's whole frame trembled, and his composure threatened to collapse as he recounted what had happened. He managed to hold his own. "The note was on the table… that's it."

"When did you find it? The note, I mean."

The boy's mind was straining; when had he first woken up, cold and alone? How many hours had he laid there waiting for Albel to come back to bed? For how long, and not just in that night, had he been convincing himself that the Wicked Swordsman would never leave him? And how much time had elapsed since he had stood, chair toppling to the floor behind him, and ran from the house? "Maybe… an hour ago?"

"I see." The red-haired woman fell into a silent lapse of thought, closing her eyes and touching the back of her index finger to her lower lip. "If you hadn't fought, why would he leave so abruptly? Was he hinting at it beforehand? Or… Fayt, did you ever say he could leave?!"

These questions – though Fayt saw them more as accusations – got him to snap for a third time. He sobbed loudly into his hands, shoulders racking heavily with relentless vocations of his hatred toward himself for not being able to stop this from happening. He blamed himself, over and over, and after a time, Nel seemed to realize that she had unwittingly destroyed her chances of getting him to talk any more. "Fayt," she said just over the sounds of his groaning, "Go home, alright? Get as much sleep as you can. I'll come talk to you about this later." Fayt said nothing in response; he merely turned and walked away, crying to himself, hands fisted at his sides. That left Nel standing awkwardly in her doorway, staring down at the folded piece of paper in her hand. With a sigh, she shook her head, then moved back into the room and closed the door.

**X**

Nel did indeed come calling in search of more information, but her attempts after that first night were mostly, if not completely, fruitless. Fayt had lapsed into a state of depression from which no one could rouse him. Nothing anyone said seemed to be of much help; their attempt to assure him that Albel would be found and everything would be fine bounced right off him. The boy's only three friends in the world did their best to console him, but the matter only became more difficult and stressful for them. He slowly lost interest in food and sleep, and then in everything altogether; even presenting him with news about the search for Albel did little to pull him from the rut he had gotten into. At first, Nel had suggested that perhaps one of them stay over each night to watch out for him, but the task became so tedious that they soon stopped bothering. And, after a time, they quit trying to mend his heart altogether. After a month, even the search for the Wicked Swordsman had been given up. No one dared tell Fayt so, although the three friends suspected that he wouldn't respond to the news, anyway.

Everything in Fayt's life from that night onward became painful; he no longer slept because the absence of Albel's arms around him left him feeling hollow and vulnerable. Food had lost its taste, because it was Albel he had been trying to please when he had cooked for everyone. Even such small things as staring out the window when it rained and sitting in front of the fire brought him to hours-long bouts of crying. His home seemed to be filled with images of memories and specters of feeling – in every corner there was something to remind him of why the sun would never shine again.

But most of all, the youth's heart ached and yearned in a way he had never experienced before. The closest he could recall to feeling in such a way was when he had lost his family; for many nights he had huddled in a ball and sobbed, a wrenching, lonesome pang in his heart. This time around, it was so much stronger and painful. It didn't take an expert to know that it was heartbreak, and that it was the source of Fayt's suffering. Accompanying that was self-blame and indignation – how could Albel abandon him that way without a word! It wasn't fair! – and betrayal, even fear. So many things walled him in, so that to escape it he withdrew into himself and became lost, blank, and even mindless at times. His first few weeks after Albel had gone were spent doing nothing outside crying, really, but nearing the end of the month that had gone by, the boy had given up the ghost and merely sat in stony silence, incapable of squeezing any more tears from his jaded green eyes.

Although the youth's three friends had given up their endeavor to set things right in Fayt's world, Evia had never stopped coming to see him. Even after Nel and Dion had deemed it a waste of time because Fayt would never speak to them, still the dark-haired boy walked to his friend's house with a basket on his arm, always packed scantly with food he knew Fayt liked. It didn't faze him when the youth ignored him, refused the treats, and on the occasion walked away and shut himself up in his bedroom. They had been there for each other through the best and worst of times, and Evia was under no inclination to let that go simply because Fayt was hung up over his evil ex-boyfriend.

Each day, twice a day, Evia would make his usual grand entrance and slammed down his basket. He would spread out all the goodies he'd managed to harvest and would eat his share, yammering cheerfully away to Fayt. Sometimes Fayt would eat, and sometimes Fayt would seem to be paying some semblance of attention to what Evia was saying, which pleased the dark-haired boy very much. The visits were no different than they had always been – they lasted anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, depending on what he had to talk about, and he would always return around the same times the day following.

Things may have continued to go on as routine like this: Evia coming in every morning and night to visit his practically comatose best friend; Fayt trapped in a prison that was his own heart, dead to the world and everything on it. The two may very well have been able to do the same thing endlessly until they grew old and died, had Evia not fortuitously done one thing he happened to do very often – he made a mistake.

As normal, Evia had come in with his basket of treats and sat right down at the table, where Fayt was currently half-dead, arms folded and his face buried in them. The older boy went right on eating and talking, all a-fluster with new news. "I met the guy who just moved in the other day… bumped into him last night on the street," Evia began, his tone suggestive. "I think he's a-ma-zing, but I'm not sure how keen he is on me. Oh well." The boy laughed and took a big bite out of the muffin he had in his hand; a piece of blueberry fell from the bread and landed on the table. Licking at his index finger, Evia quickly poked at all the crumbs he'd spilled and got them stuck to his finger, and then ate those, too. "I really wish you could meet him, Fayt," he went on afterwards, looking over at the blue-haired boy. He had not stirred in the slightest. "Really, I think I might just bring him over and introduce you! He's gorgeousss… a real hottie!"

After that exclamation, Fayt ceased to hear any more of the one-sided conversation. He opened his eyes slowly, staring down at the wooden tabletop beneath him. That word, 'hottie,' had awakened a dormant feeling within. Something deep inside him, beyond the eroded shores of his heart, deep down in the very murky depths, was stirring. At first he didn't recognize it; the burning, stinging rage and sadness had died long ago, but he soon began to sense its return, as strong as ever. Evia continued to babble on, about his new boy-toy, completely oblivious when a familiar racking jerk ran across Fayt's shoulders, then another, the second more violent than the first.

His first sobs in a month and a half were completely dry and silent; for a moment the youth thought maybe he just needed to sneeze. But, no, he could feel the twist, the agony, his facial featured contorted in a grimace of pain. A sound escaped his mouth as he sobbed again, then another, louder, more like a retch than a whimper. Tears sprang into his eyes – hot ones, salty, so much so that the boy thought he might go blind from their potency. Before long he was full-fledged bawling, and it didn't take long at all for Evia to take notice.

"Fayt?" he questioned gently, thin eyebrows arched, dark eyes wide. "Fayt, are you okay? Are you…" Evia was no stranger to the symptoms of 'a good cry,' and he recognized them right away in Fayt's behavior. Still, it was odd. The blue-haired youth had been so passive, so apathetic and without emotion, he had believed there was simply no cry left in him. "Was it something I said?"

Evia's words only got Fayt to cry harder, and he felt relieved for this, welcoming the heavy sobs and hiccups like they were old friends that had just come back from a long trip. Slowly, he sat up, his neck and shoulders sore from having been slumped in that position so long. His tear-teeming eyes met Evia's and they shared a long look, communicating silently, as only two as close as they could do. "I know you miss him," Evia said finally, smiling sadly. "I miss him too, you know. I miss his hot body. And I miss his charming way with words… remember, he used to call me 'Waste of Life'? Such a sweetie."

This spurred a laugh, mirthless though it was, from Fayt, and he sobbed harder, shaking his head. Something like a wince mingled with a smile appeared on his face. "H-He… always called me… a maggot…"

"That was his favorite word!" giggled Evia, now fully enthused since he had gotten a huge reaction from his friend. Well – huge compared to lately, anyway. "_Maggot_ this, _worm_ that…"

"Don't forget _fool_," Fayt added, sniffling noisily and wiping at his eyes. His heart hurt so bad it felt like it might burst.

The dark-haired boy giggled more and nodded, remembering all of Albel's favorite things to call people. "I never understood why he bothered with that – guess it was just another one of his sexy quirks." Evia winked, and then tapped his chin. "Or maybe he just really, really hated me."

"P-Probably," Fayt said, shrugging. Although his bawling had ceased, a steady stream of tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. "He did really hate you."

For a moment, Evia was silent, possibly even thinking. Then he turned fully toward his friend, looked him square in the eye, and said, "He didn't hate you, though. I can tell."

Fayt seemed stunned by the comment; even if he knew it was true. Of course it was; it was painfully obvious, as a matter of fact. Really, he had never allowed himself to acknowledge it. Albel's unexplained affection toward him he had always passed off as something he did to make up for the fact that he _had_ to stay with him. But he knew that wasn't the case then, and he certainly knew it now. "He loved me."

"Did he? Aww, Fayt, that's so cyuuute!" Evia gushed, beaming and clapping his hands together. "I bet when he told you, it was sooo dramatic! And romantic, of course. Ohh, you're so lucky…"

Slowly, the blue-haired boy shook his head. Then he looked down, swallowing tightly to try and rid himself of the knot that was tying itself in his throat. "He never told me… He never said he loved me."

"… O-Oh." Evia blushed at his mistake, and then cleared his throat. "Then you just _knew_ without words? That's cute too…"

Fayt shook his head again. "I guess… i-it… I… Evia, you said once that you didn't have to love someone to… touch them, right?"

The older boy seemed somewhat confused with the question, but laughed and blushed anyway. "Well, mostly. You obviously have to be attracted to them, anyway… I mean, who wants to make out with an ugly person? Eewww. But why do you ask?"

"Do you think… Alb…" Fayt hesitated, afraid to say the name, the forbidden name. Saying it would be like acknowledging his absence, and he would certainly break down all over again. "Do you think _he_ is the type to… touch people for no real reason?"

Again, Evia surprised Fayt by giving the question some thought. He 'hmm'd for awhile, and then answered, "I don't think so. I doubt it. Betcha he doesn't waste his time with that kind of thing… sadly…"

The blue-haired youth felt his cheeks growing hot and he was embarrassed in spite of himself. "Then… he must have loved me."

"How can you tell? What're you getting at, Fayt?" Evia pressed, whining some. The whole runaround was beginning to make his head hurt. And he was eager to hear the juicy details – immersing himself in the facts of Fayt's love affair was one of his favorite hobbies.

For a long time, Fayt found himself unsure of how to answer. He was still crying, a little, his voice unsteady and strained – partly from the knot in his throat, and partly from disuse. "I-I'd think it would be painfully obvious what I'm getting at by now…" he murmured, managing to steal a brief glance at Evia in hopes that he would figure it out. No sign of understanding registered on the other boy's face, and Fayt sighed. Voice lowering to that just above a whisper, he started helplessly, "He… we… um… well…"

"_Oh_ my god," Evia interrupted, bringing both hands up to cover his mouth. His face was almost as red Fayt's. "You guys had sex?!"

"You don't have to say it like that!" Fayt cried, hiding his face in his hands. Whether he would die from embarrassment or the ever-present ache in his chest, he could no longer tell. Or maybe his head would explode from all the blood rushing to it. "It's not like it's _that_ big of a deal…"

"It's a huge deal!" Evia squealed. "Ohhhh my god! You had sex with the hottie! Oh, my god, Fayt!" For the longest time, the boy seemed only capable of saying 'oh, my god' over and over in various high-pitched tones, bouncing about in his chair.

The two of them lapsed into restless silence after this, during which time Fayt began to cry much harder again, pulling on his hair, frustrated. "Evia… it's not fair…" he whimpered through gritted teeth. "I miss him so much…"

Evia's smile faded at these words, and he moved to Fayt's side and touched his shoulder sympathetically. "I know you do."

"My heart hurts… I don't know what to do… It's not fair…" Fayt shook his head forcefully as if trying to rid himself of an intruding thought. "How could he just _do _this to me and not even care?! And why?! I don't understand it!"

"Tough love?" Evia offered, pouting his lips. For once, he couldn't think of a single bit of advice to give his friend concerning his relationship with Albel.

The blue-haired boy continued to shake his head. "That's not good enough! I want to know why he toyed with me like that! You know, he humored me the whole time? He knew where he was, even though I told him it was Kirlsa, and he knew I was lying to him… but he didn't do anything! Anything at all, Evia!" Fayt spat angrily, as if it had been a cruel thing Albel had done. "He could have killed me. And everyone. Anything could have happened… but he stayed and he was my… my friend."

"It's because you're such a good cook, and he was getting free food," Evia joked, but it went unappreciated. Fayt huffed, a vein pounding in his temple.

"And then he had to go and hold me every night! He held me… so close… and sometimes he would look at me and his eyes were almost _soft_… and that time at the hotel in Peterny…" Fayt trailed off, bringing that morning back up in his mind. It ripped him apart inside, and he cried all the more wretchedly for it, but it mattered little to him. He was too furious to pay his tears any heed. "He kissed me and he was so gentle… and when he was touching me… there was something different about it… Evia, I don't understand it! Why would he do that and then leave?!"

Evia could think of a few things right off the bat, but didn't have the heart to tell Fayt any of them. They would only break his heart and shatter his mind even more. That was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he murmured a soft, "I don't know," and ruffled Fayt's hair as comfortingly as he could.

"I want to know. I won't rest until I do." The boy rose from his chair abruptly, very nearly knocking it and Evia over in the process. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to _make_ him tell me why he did it."

The change in his friend startled Evia, but it also pleased him. It was so nice to see energy in the boy's movements again, a fire in his eyes again. "How will you find him? I wanna come too!" he cried, standing up, and clapped his hands together. "Oh, I know! Fayt, let's go ask Dion and Nel!"

"Aren't they already trying to find him? They should have a lead by now…" mused Fayt aloud, staring elsewhere, then over at Evia. The look on the dark-haired boy's face worried him immediately. "… What?"

Poking the toe of his boot at the scuffed wood floor, Evia mumbled quietly, "Um, Fayt… they stopped searching a long time ago…" He looked up again in time to see those few faint sparkles of hope in Fayt's eyes die away. Panicking, he flailed his arms then latched onto Fayt and shook him. "Don't worry! We'll go ask them! It's okay!"

"… Yeah," Fayt responded half-heartedly. So this whole time, no one had been looking at all. There was always that distant wish that they might find him, and that everything would be okay again when they did. But they weren't looking, they hadn't found him, and now they would have to start over. In his mind, he prayed hard to Apris that it wouldn't be difficult. "Let's go ask them."

**X**

"I'm not so sure that finding Albel would be a good idea," was the first thing Dion said when Fayt and Evia came to him with their proposition. "At the very least, it would be opening a window to Aquios once again, and this time… he might not hesitate to attack."

There was that word again, 'attack.' Fayt's nerves jumped at the sound of it, but he pushed it away, fought it, and struggled to restrain the ache. "I don't care. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility for it…"

"That's very noble of you," Dion said, bobbing his head a little, "but if Aquaria is destroyed there really wouldn't be a point."

Evia, having wound himself around Dion's waist, now clung to him for dear life and purred in his ear, "Aw, but Di-Di, it's not like we said we wanted to bring him back here. Fayt just wants to ask him some personal questions."

"Personal questions?" asked Dion, squirming uncomfortably at how close Evia was to him. One would think he would be used to it, as the dark-haired youth loved to show his affection for the man as physically as possible, but he still didn't find it quite tolerable.

Fayt blushed a little and shot Evia a look at his tactlessness with words. "Yeah… personal. Which means I kind of can't tell you. -- But don't worry, it doesn't have anything to do with Aquaria or… or anything."

"You aren't planning on proposing to him or something, are you?" Evia joked. The question flustered both Fayt and Dion, the latter seeming more terrified by the idea than embarrassed.

"Of course not!" Fayt huffed.

"Then there you go, Di-Di. You can work something out for us, can't you?" asked the dark-haired youth, toying with a strand of Dion's hair between his fingers. He almost seemed to relish in how uncomfortable he was making the bespectacled man, giggling a little to himself and twirling the stray strand of black hair. "Pretty please?"

"Well…" Dion mused, sighing. All his instinct told him that this was a bad idea, and that nothing but bad things could possibly come from it. Mingling with Albel the Wicked? Utterly preposterous. But no matter how much he tried to find a way around it, he could not think of an excuse, and was cornered into agreeing. "Oh, alright. But you can't expect me to do it myself. We'll have to get Nel and her spies to search for Albel. It won't happen overnight, you understand."

Fayt nodded in understanding; he hadn't expected Dion – or anyone else for that matter – to work him a miracle. He had waited this long, and his patience was so utterly tranquilized that he figured a little longer wouldn't kill him. "Thank you, Dion…" he murmured, then stepped forward and embraced him.

The bespectacled man was happy to return the hug, more than relieved to see that there was life in his friend once again. Not to be left out, Evia leaped into the two of them and turned it into a group hug, laughing and cheering at their success in persuading Dion to help them. For once, no one minded the boy's antics; they even went so far as to appreciate it, and laughed altogether, like they had many months ago.

Afterward, the three went to see Nel, who they found walking around town rather aimlessly. It was an odd thing to see the runologist doing, but they didn't bother to question it, and instead began stating their case and begging her to assist them. Like Dion, the red-haired woman was skeptical and reluctant, but with all three of her friends barraging her with reasons as to why she needn't worry, there really was no way for her to refuse.

Nel's spies were employed all over the continent of Gaitt. At least two had gone to search in every city and every space between. This left the four friends to search Aquios and the surrounding area when they had nothing better to do. The prospect of Albel the Wicked lurking in the capital city right under their noses seemed very small, and it was no surprise when after a week of strip-searching, they had not managed to find him.

Another month passed with little news from the spies. Small snippets of things like, "I think I spotted him here, but I couldn't be sure" were the only things the four had to run on, and after a time, even those tiny glimmers of hope became scarce. It seemed to them that Albel had dropped off the face of the planet. Nel's finest of spies hadn't been able to locate him in an entire month and there was little else for them to do but sit and wait.

Fayt seemed to go positively mad during the weeks of the search. Evia still went to see him twice a day, ever the faithful best friend, and sometimes Dion or Nel would stop in as well to check on the youth. The blue-haired boy was livid half the time and miserable the other half. He seemed to bounce back and forth between being frustrated with the slow progression of the search and with the outrage he felt toward Albel for what he'd done, and being morose and pessimistic, convinced that they would never find him, and that Albel didn't care just how much he had hurt him, and would get away with it just like that.

Evia managed to keep his friend from snapping entirely by entertaining him with stories of the good old days; some of them before the 'Albel era,' and some of them about the Wicked Swordsman himself. They played games, they cooked dinner together, took walks, and even spent time in the graveyard in front of the Leingod and Esteed graves. Dion invited Fayt to help him with his research whenever he could, and Nel often asked Fayt to come with her on patrols and various minor expeditions.

Anything to keep the youth's mind off the torment of waiting for something to happen. Unlike when Albel had first disappeared, it wasn't too hard to keep Fayt occupied. At times the boy didn't even need it; he would have brief glimmers of optimism and would assure the others – though they didn't need it – that things would work out, "You'll see."

Sure enough, a month and a half after the spies had set out on their mission, two of them returned to Aquios on horseback. Fayt, Evia, Dion and Nel were all in Dion's office, playing a came of cards on the large examination table when the two women knocked and came inside. With a salute, one of them stated in a businesslike tone, "Lady Nel, we have located Albel the Wicked as you ordered."

"Good job, Eilene, Manara. Where is he?"

"Castle Airyglyph," answered Manara, also saluting. "He has not taken part in any battles of late and remains beside the king most of the time. Otherwise, he keeps to his own quarters."

Fayt and Evia exchanged excited glances, and then looked to Dion and Nel with large eyes, eager to see what would happen next. "Thank you. Dismissed," Nel said to Eilene and Manara, then waited until they had left the room, closing the door behind them, before she turned to the others. "Well, there you have it."

"What are we going to do now?" Evia asked, bouncing up and down on the heels of his boots. One arm was wrapped around Fayt's, the other around Dion's. "Can we go bag us a hottie now?"

Nel snorted, but nodded, smiling some at the childish excitement. "We'll take a caravan and depart at nightfall," she stated, casting a glance around at the three men. "I expect you will all be ready to leave."

"Why nightfall?" asked Fayt, tilting his head. His whole body was quivering, his emotions had blended into one big, bubbling confusion that threatened to burst out of him at any given moment. Waiting until nightfall seemed like a waste of an afternoon – why couldn't they leave immediately?

"It'll take us that long to get ready anyway," Dion answered for the red-haired woman, who had given Fayt a look suggesting that she didn't want to be bothered with answering the question. The bespectacled man's explanation seemed to suffice for Fayt (as well as Evia, who had been wondering the same thing), and they all nodded.

"See you tonight, then," Fayt said, giving a stiff wave of his hand before turning to leave. The four friends headed in separate directions to pack.


	8. All is Fair

**X (In Love and War: Chapter 7) X**

_Again, I took a mercilessly long time updating, and I'm sorry. Here's chapter seven, first of the final three chapters of my story. X3 _

**X**

**D**ead leaves crunched beneath the wheels of the caravan and tumbled along the dirt path in the breeze. Bare, skinny trees stood on either side of the road, growing so close together that even in the middle of the day, the road was dark. Occasionally a bird would call, or crickets would chirp, but aside from the grind of leaves and dirt under wheels and hooves, the world seemed dead, silent and cold. Winter's pall was only beginning to break; it would be another month before spring, and even then it would take longer than that for the weather to get warmer. It alarmed Fayt how different things looked outside the gates of Aquios. The only other time he had left the city was the night of the Black Brigade's attack several months ago, and at that time he had been too busy with other things to give the scenery a second thought. Now as he watched the trees roll by, he felt disconcerted by the atmosphere, half expecting a ghost to go drifting past.

Nel drove the caravan, her back to the other three. Every so often she would crack the reins and the horses would give a start before speeding up, only to slow down again later, and the circle would begin again. To Fayt's right was Evia. The older boy had fallen asleep ("This is so boring! How much longer? Are we there yet? There's nothing to look at!") with his head on Fayt's upper arm, clasping their hands together, fingers entwined. He snored softly and grumbled every time the cart hit a bump, making banana-chewing noises with his mouth, then would shift in his seat and drift off again. Across from Fayt was Dion, his nose stuck in a book. Fayt had tried to time him, and see how long it took for him to turn a page, but each time he tried, he found that it took so long that he got bored quickly and would fall asleep. So the youth took to watching the trees and thinking deeply.

How would they possibly manage to pull this off? It wasn't safe for Aquarians to enter Airyglyph territory, even if the war had lately seemed to have gone stale. It was one thing to pass through quickly, but they were intent on meeting the Captain of the Black Brigade – it sounded like a suicide mission to Fayt. Even though they had gone over the plan over and over, the boy kept finding holes in his memory, forgetting what he was supposed to do when they got there. As he ran the procedure through his head, he would come to the part where he confronted Albel, then drew a blank. The memory of Albel, his image, the familiar growl of his voice, wiped all other thoughts away. And if this was happening only while he was thinking, he was petrified to wonder what it would be like when he actually came face-to-face with the Wicked Swordsman.

It was Nel who had done most of the strategizing; after all, that was one of her many appointed jobs, and she did a much better job of it than the three men – especially Evia, who couldn't seem to understand what was wrong with just walking right into the castle and asking to see Albel. Thanks to her spies' previous infiltrations of Castle Airyglyph, they knew the entire layout and the general idea of who would be where for how long. It was decided that, once they had come to the bridge leading into the snowy city, that Evia would take the helm. He would drive the caravan inside and past the guards with Fayt, Dion, and Nel hidden under tarps and piles of goods in the back. While they pretended to be delivering goods to the general store, Fayt and Nel would sneak out and approach the castle, where they would maneuver their way to Albel's quarters. Once there, they would wait, hidden, until the Wicked Swordsman came in, where they would confront him, and then make a hasty retreat.

"Of course it's a risky and last-minute plan," Nel had admitted, sounding ashamed of herself, "But we don't have time to sit and come up with anything better. It's the best we've got."

The men had agreed on that last phrase altogether, but now Fayt was beginning to question his judgment. Surely the guards would strip-search the caravan and find them hiding? And just how _did_ Nel plan on getting them into the castle, past tons of guards, without being mangled by swords or dragons? Furthermore, what if Albel didn't go quietly? All they were planning on doing was talking, but the youth knew that Albel wasn't much of a talker. What if he took an 'attack first, ask questions later' approach?

_Well_, Fayt thought with a sigh, _at least if he kills me, I'll have gotten to see him one last time._

After a long while, the scenery began to turn barer; the trees and leaves vanished, as did the dirt. Grass and plants became scarce, and soon, the soil beneath them turned harder-packed and covered with snow. The white substance began sprinkling from the sky, heavier and heavier the further they went. Fayt stared out with mild interest, feeling a mixture of pain and anger at the sight of the wintery scene. Last time snow had fallen that way, he had come home and found his whole family dead. The sound of crunching snow took his mind back; back past his depression, past Albel, past the thick of the war…

**X**

"Sure was a lot of corn out there today," Fayt mused aloud, looking down into the two baskets he had on either arm. They were both full of small, yellow kernels, frosted and hard though they were. It was the most he had been able to harvest since the winter – and war – had started. "Mom could probably make bread with this. Mrs. Esteed has wanted to learn the recipe for a long time, and probably Sophia, too." It wasn't uncommon for him to talk to himself; there wasn't anyone else to talk to, after all.

The streets were empty of people this morning, mainly because it was so early that nobody wanted to be awake. Fayt had known that leaving at dawn was the best time to gather food. It was the time before anyone else had gotten their pickings, which meant he would get the first and the best. Not that he enjoyed rising with the sun; but they needed the food, and he wasn't about to make anyone else get it when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

"I wonder if Sophia is a good baker." The youth turned a corner, and then proceeded down the main road of Aquios. It had snowed a good four or five inches overnight and no one had shoveled yet, so he had to juggle between trudging a canal in the snow and stepping over it. Either way, there was a perpetual crunching sound beneath his boots that seemed to echo the beat of his heart. "She definitely isn't a good cook… oh, but I better not tell her I think so."

Fayt could spot his house in the distance; one of the larger ones on the right side of the street. Smoke was puffing out of the chimney, which the boy decided meant his family had gotten up already. The Esteeds' house, one about the same size beside his own, was dark and smoke-less. "Guess they're not up yet."

As he got closer to the house, Fayt began thinking excitedly of breakfast. It was a Thursday morning, meaning Sophia and her family would be over to join them. Even if the kitchen got awfully crowded when the Esteeds came for meals, Fayt always enjoyed it a lot more than when they didn't. There was always lots of energy in the room, everyone talking and eating and reaching over each other for the butter. Fayt and Sophia would poke each other with their forks until one of the mothers told them to stop. Then they'd race to see who could eat breakfast faster, and one of them would always choke and almost pass out. His mother and Sophia's would collaborate to make the _best_ food in Aquaria; there were never any leftovers because everyone wolfed it all right down.

With images of corn bread and porridge and fresh juice wafting through his mind, the youth crossed the street and all but ran to his house. He glanced over his shoulder at Sophia's house as he passed it, trying to catch a peek in the window and see if anyone was moving around. But the house was totally dark, and he shook his head with an affectionate eye roll. Then he took the few steps to his own house – and stopped short.

The front door stood wide open, and Fayt could see thick, black smoke covering the kitchen. His eyes followed a trail off odd markings in the snow – some footprints, and other long, skinny trails like a rake had been run through the white substance – down his front steps. There he gaze landed on five sprawled, bloody forms on the ground. All the snow around each form was red, and had slowly bled out into the surrounding area, stretching almost as far as the neighboring yards. Legs shaking, Fayt slowly crept closer to one of the blood-covered things.

He stopped when the smell of blood and smoke became too overpowering, standing just beside the smallest of the five things on the ground. From his angle it looked like a wadded up pile of coats and clothing. That is, until he noticed long, brown hair fanned out along the curve of the form. It became clear to him now – he could see a bowed head, shoulders brought up close to the neck, arms bent, hands clenched at the chest. The body was curved, curled up, legs tucked, pressed together, almost in a fetal position. "Wh-What _is_ this?!" Fayt cried, staring aghast at the thing he assumed was a corpse. Gently, terrified, he turned the body over with his boot.

A pair of clouded, forest-green eyes stared back up at him. They were wide and horrified, yet blank, sightless. Fayt screamed, and leapt away at the sight of them, at the sight of the familiar face, of his cousin, Sophia, and her dead eyes. Immediately he began to sob, still screaming, his baskets of corn now on the ground and spilling their contents into the snow. He skirted around Sophia's body and fell, then crawled over to the other corpses and turned them over, one by one, becoming more hysterical each time he did. Another face he knew with wide, empty eyes would gaze up at him and it was all he could do to keep from throwing up. Sophia, his father, Mr. Esteed, Mrs. Esteed, his _mother_… all stiff, frozen, dead, and deposited right outside his house for him to find like some sick, macabre Christmas present.

The scene swam before Fayt's eyes. Try as he might to stand up, he couldn't seem to get his bearings, and he gave a brief sway to one side before collapsing. His strength waning, he dragged himself to the steps and rested his head on the second-last of them, convulsing as if having a seizure. Then a whirlpool of darkness began to surround him, obscuring his vision from the outside in, until he lost all awareness completely and was plunged into what felt like a long, deep sleep.

**X**

"Fayt? We're here."

Groaning, Fayt shook the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Both Evia and Dion had left the cart and stood outside beside Nel, who was reaching in and shaking his arm. The caravan had stopped at a place covered thickly with snow; so much that the wheels had sunk into it and he wondered if it would be difficult for the vehicle to move. "We're here," Nel said again, more softly now that the boy was awake. He looked troubled. The memory of his flashback still had a hold on him, and he felt as if he were going to cry again. But now was not the time to get emotional. They were about to execute a very delicate plan and his head had to be clear otherwise he would end up just like…

Fayt climbed from the back of the caravan with a huff and began stretching his legs. They'd traveled from Aquios to Airyglyph without stopping, which meant two or three days in the back of that blasted cold cart with very little stretching involved. His limbs – no, his whole body – were stiff and a bit sore. Nel understood this and gave the boy time to adjust, just as she had for Evia and Dion, who were already ready to go. "Are you alright?" she asked when the look on Fayt's face hadn't gone away.

"Of course I'm alright," Fayt responded, arms raised over his head. "Why?"

The red-haired woman shook her head slowly. "No reason. When you're ready, help us unload these things." With that, she, Dion, and Evia began pulling all the fake supplies from the back of the caravan and putting them in a pile in the snow. They were far enough away from Airyglyph that no one would see them doing all this, and yet not so far that Evia would have time to make an idiotic mistake behind the reins. It was a very straightforward path into the city. The area surrounding contained very few trees, but plenty of large rocks, and mountains surrounding. Several ugly, thorny looking bits of brush shot up from cracks in the soil like overgrown weeds, their branches weighted down with snow. Fayt stared blankly at one of them, a particularly tall one, as if there were something wrong with it, but for the life of him could not figure out why his attention was drawn to it. It was just an ugly plant; nothing more.

"We could really use your help, Fayt," Dion said over his shoulder, slightly aggravated. He was rather on the weak side, and seemed to be having difficulty lifting a bag of horse feed off the floor of the caravan. Even when Evia took the other end and tried to help, they couldn't seem to budge it.

Fayt shook his head quickly. "Oh, right. Sorry. Here…" Taking one last look at the shrub, he frowned, then climbed into the cart and began pulling things out.

With the four of them working together, the job took a very short time. Evia took his place behind the reins and watched through the space between the cover over the caravan and the back of the caravan itself as the other three set to work once more. Dion was first into the cart. He lay down and curled up, and then Nel and Fayt covered him with a tarp and some supplies, careful not to smother him beneath the weight. Nel was second, and Fayt repeated the process by himself – covering her with a tarp, then layering over that with bags of supplies.

"Alright, Fayt!" Evia cooed, clutching the reins tightly in his hands. "Hop on in, cover up, and let's get this show on the road!"

"I've got a better idea," said a new voice, low and sarcastic from behind Fayt. "How about not?"

Fayt whirled around, heart leaping into his throat. He could hear Evia gasp, Nel and Dion squirming in their hiding places to try and see what was going on. The youth's green eyes went straight to the tall, ugly plant from earlier, which was now obscured by a tall figure wrapped in a dark, fur-lined cloak. He followed the figure from his boots up to his face, wide-eyed: he recognized that messy, black, blonde-ended hair and those red eyes immediately. Mouth opening and closing, he struggled to say something, backing away into the caravan and nearly falling into it. Before he had a chance to, however, the figure rushed forward and had him by the front of the shirt, a sword pointed to his throat.

"What level of insanity could you _possibly_ have reached, fool, to show your face here?!" Albel sneered, shoving the tip of his Crimson Scourge more forcefully against Fayt's neck. "Under what dementia did you drag your sorry ass here, where you're not safe anymore? Did you think you and your little friends were clever enough to just come waltzing right into Airyglyph?" He paused, waiting for Fayt to answer; the boy only stammered and hiccupped. "Well?!"

Mind racing, the youth couldn't possibly think of any way to answer the older man. It was enough just to have him standing there, talking to him, looking at him, even touching him (even if it was threatening). He swallowed, and then looked up into the dark red eyes, finding no softness in them at all. "Albel…"

The sound of his own name seemed to anger Albel further. He pulled Fayt forcefully away from the caravan and threw him into the snow, watching with satisfaction as the boy yelped and thudded, skidding, along the hard-packed snow. "You really are a stupid maggot," he taunted, shaking his head. Then he turned to the caravan, scowling down at the peering eyes of Nel and Dion, and back at Evia's aghast stare. "I ought to kill you for coming into _my _territory."

"Albel! No, please! Please… don't hurt them!" Fayt shouted, crawling onto his hands and knees. As he rose to stand up, the toe of a heavy boot hit him square in the gut, and he collapsed, getting a mouthful of snow, gagging.

"Shut your mouth, worm." Slowly, like a large predatory cat stalking its prey, Albel circled the caravan, sword at the ready in his hand. "How ridiculous you all are. I knew you were coming days ago; hell, I knew you would be coming the moment I left. I'm afraid all your hard work is for naught, fools." The Wicked Swordsman approached the caravan's horses, then seized their bridles and began pulling them to the right, turning the cart to face back the way it had come. "You'll be going home now."

Fayt shakily began to get up again, watching Albel and the caravan. It was now facing in his direction, and if the horses ran, he would undoubtedly be trampled. Albel's words spurred him forward, and he slowly moved toward the cart to climb up beside Evia. Before he had the chance, however, Albel lashed out, striking one of the horses on the left flank with his clawed gauntlet. The sudden pain terrified the animal, which in turn terrified the other, and, rearing, the two horses sprinted forward, trying to escape whatever was behind them that had harmed them. Fayt screamed and dove to the side, nearly tossing himself over the cliff, had Albel not seized him by the hair and tossed him on his back into the snow. He had just enough time to see the out-of-control caravan thundering away, Nel, Dion, and Evia yelling back at him and in fear of crashing, before the Wicked Swordsman hefted him up and began to drag him the opposite way, into the city of Airyglyph.

The older man's hold on the back of his shirt was so tight that he could scarcely breathe. He pulled at his collar, trying to loosen it, and gagged, flailing his arms and legs. "Albel! I can't breathe! What are you—what are you doing?! Where are you taking me?!"

"To a place where you will be treated properly, maggot. Shut up," Albel said, and then proceeded to laugh a sarcastic, domineering sort of laugh. Despite the words of reassurance, Fayt did not seem to feel like he was going to be any safer wherever Albel was taking him than he was now.

The youth continued to struggle and complain, digging his heels and even his fingers into the snow to try and stop Albel from dragging him. He was powerless against the other man; despite Albel's thin frame, he was unnervingly strong, and that seemingly indestructible gauntlet of his didn't help matters. "Please, Albel!" cried Fayt. "I-I just wanted to ask you why you left! I didn't want to cause a scene, I swear! Albel…!"

A swift jerk on the back of Fayt's shirt shut the boy right up. He gagged and fell silent, breathing quickly and shallowly to make up for the strangulation. His throat was so constricted that he could no longer make any sound, which satisfied Albel quite well. Instead, the youth had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged like a dead animal into Castle Airyglyph.

Once they passed through the doors, Albel took a large fistful of Fayt's hair and hefted him to his feet, then held him by the back of his neck with his gauntlet and forced him to walk forward. They turned a corner and went up a flight of stairs, followed a short hallway, then entered a large room with several important-looking chairs, one of which Fayt was sure was the throne, for a young man with a crown sat upon it.

Fayt trembled in fear at the sight of the King of Airyglyph, though he guessed the man was barely much older than himself or Albel. He had a weathered and serious look to him, with intense, dark eyes and a creased face that always seemed to be rather angry. It was a bit intimidating, and Fayt found himself no stranger to its effect. The king raised his eyebrows curiously when Albel came in and presented Fayt to him, shoving the blue-haired boy down onto his knees before the king.

"The stupid maggots showed up, just like I said they would," Albel stated plainly, staring down at Fayt in contempt.

"Oh? Well then, where are the others?" replied Airyglyph.

Albel gave Fayt a kick to send him sprawling face-down onto the floor. The youth gave a cry of pain and protest but it seemed to go unnoticed. "This is the worm that planned everything out," Albel snarled, then put his boot down on the small of Fayt's back. "He is the only one worth beating the crap out of."

Airyglyph took on a strange expression at Albel's words; amused, and yet disconcerted. "Take him to the dungeon, then," he said, waving one hand needlessly in no particular direction. "Let the Inquisitor have his way with him. Perhaps we can find out why this boy intended on infiltrating a castle."

For a moment, no one moved at all. Fayt's face was pressed into the floor, and he didn't want to open his eyes, anyway. The king and Albel stared back at one another, blank, and then Albel said, "I'm going to be the one to deal with the maggot."

"Oh?" replied the king simply, as if speaking to a child.

"He came here after me, you know. This is the maggot that was keeping me prisoner! I would like nothing more than to make him suffer for his crimes personally." Albel smirked, grinding the heel of his boot into Fayt's back. He seemed pleased with the boy's groan of pain.

"The purpose is not to make him suffer," stated Airyglyph, gazing down at the whimpering, writhing youth at the foot of his throne. "We want to extort information from him. You realize that, do you not, Albel?"

Albel waved his hand, snorting as if the king had asked a silly question. "Whatever. I'll make sure he talks, make no mistake." The swordsman's ruby gaze traveled back down to Fayt, and he dug his further into the boy's back. After the inevitable cry of pain, he added, "I'll be _persuasive._"

Although Airyglyph did not seem _persuaded_ by Albel's assurance, he nodded once, causing locks of his dark, unkempt-looking hair to fall in his face. He hastily brushed them aside, and in the same gesture, swept the gloved hand in the direction of the dungeon. "Then I will expect a report on the matter as soon as possible. Dismissed."

Making a gruff sound, Albel stooped down and wrenched Fayt up by his hair and forced him to stand once again, then seized him by the front of his shirt and dragged him away. Fayt was quick to follow rather than resist this time in order to keep from being choked by his clothing, though seemed to have a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other. He was already sore from all the abuse he'd taken and his knees were trembling, his legs felt weak. Terror clenched his muscles and made his body rigid, difficult to work with. As much as he wanted to try and talk Albel out of whatever he was going to do, he couldn't seem to find the words. His throat had gone dry. All he could do was be led, and hope to god that, at the very least, his suffering would be minimal.

They descended a flight of stairs and took a long, empty hallway that winded through what felt like the entire castle, adorned only with a threadbare rug lining the center of the floor and lit sconces on the stone walls. At length, they came to a heavy wooden door at the bottom of an unnervingly long set of stairs. To Fayt, it seemed as if they had just walked several miles underground. It was cold down here, in spite of the many torches on the walls, and was even more sparsely decorated than the rest of the castle, giving it a grim sort of appearance. There was a door to the right, and a door straight ahead, and Albel approached the door ahead of them and pushed it open with his hip and elbow, then yanked Fayt forward and thrust him into the room, swinging him around by the front of the shirt so that the youth went practically flying forward into a table near the center of the room.

"Ouch! Al…Albel!" Fayt cried in protest, catching himself against the table and hefting himself up. He remained leaned against it, since he felt that using something for support was absolutely necessary by this time. The two of them shot glares at one another, and though Fayt was naturally petrified by the other man's look of hatred, he refused to back down. _I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated, _he thought over and over. Anything to keep him from losing his cool. "Albel, let me go."

"Shut your mouth, maggot," Albel snapped, stepping forward into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. Any warmth from the previous room that had been flooding in before was cut off when the door was shut, and Fayt became painfully aware of how cold, dim, and hopeless the place he was in now seemed; the perfect environment for a dungeon. But he was not bothered by it. His heart was a far colder, more hopeless place, and he had endured worse than this.

"No, _you_ shut_ your_ mouth. I'm not going to take this! You can't do this to me." The youth pushed himself up with the table's help to stand up straight and squared his shoulders, trying to look tough and intimidating. "All I wanted to do was ask you why you left. There's no need for all this!"

Albel said nothing. He simply stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Fayt as if he were only there to amuse him. The cocky look on his face, the indifferent air about him, even just the way he was standing… it all infuriated Fayt. Here he was challenging his authority, mouthing off to him, and all Albel did was stand there and smirk at him.

"You think this is funny?!" Fayt yelled, face red with anger. Anger was all that kept him from breaking down, and the fact was very obvious to the both of them. The moment Fayt's rage cooled down, he would cry, or he would give in. It always happened that way… "Am I just a game to you, Albel?! Why are you always toying with me like this?"

Still, Albel did not reply. His silence only riled Fayt up more. "Tell me why you left! Why you reeled me in and made me think that you cared about me, and then just disappeared! I don't understand it… I can't take it…"

"Why are you getting angry at _me_?" Albel asked, though his expression did not change. "You're the one that fell like a fool. All I had to do was cast the bait."

Fayt's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Cast the _bait_?!" he repeated in disbelief. "What _bait_?! Do you just get a kick out of messing with people's heads or something?! I don't understand you, Albel!"

"You really are a stupid maggot," said Albel, very plainly.

"_You're_ a stupid maggot!" Fayt shot back. He was beginning to lose it, he could tell. His anger was seeping away, and in its place was that helpless, emotional sinking feeling in his heart. Albel laughed at his response, but made no attempt to respond, and the youth leapt at the chance to say something more, to try and keep his anger burning. "You're a manipulative bastard, and you don't make any sense! It's… I… It's not fair!"

The look on Albel's face finally changed then; the hardness in his eyes seemed to disappear, and the smug smirk faded into something… different. As if his emotions had all surfaced and were being sent out in the form of an expression for Fayt to read. He had looked at Fayt that way many times before, and smiled a little when the blue-haired boy recognized the look. "All's fair in love and war," stated Albel, his tone calmer, sounding strange but so familiar to Fayt.

Despite Albel's change, fury and pain continued to rage through the youth's mind and body. After all that he'd just said, how dare he look at him like that! It was a mockery to mockery! An outrage, an insult, a slap in the face, a spit in his eye. "Then what is it, Albel?" he demanded, his voice low and quavering, threatening to give way to sobs and tears. "Is it love or is it war? What is this you're doing to me?" That was it. He could barely manage to finish speaking before the hiccups started, before the tears spilled forth and began cascading down his face. Oh, how he hated that feeling, the feeling of crying and being unable to withstand his pain! The more he tried to push his feelings back down, to bottle them up inside, the more they seemed to surge forward, like a fount of emotion.

"I can't stand it anymore!" Fayt pressed on, teeth gritted, spluttering the words between sobs of anguish. "If you brought me here to torture me, do it! If you were going to kill me, then just kill me! What are you waiting for?!" He threw his arms out to either side. "I can't take feeling like this anymore! I took your stupid bait, and now what?! What's next?! More of this—of this pain, of me crying all the time?! No! No more!"

Albel was very quiet during Fayt's outburst, expression still soft; seeming strangely patient as though waiting for the boy to get whatever was bothering him out of his system so that he could be rational. "Fayt."

"No!!" Fayt screamed, reaching up with both hands to tangle his fingers in his own locks of blue hair and pull on them, though not hard enough to yank any out. "Don't say it, don't say anything… I don't want to hear your stupid voice anymore. I don't want to hear my name! I… I don't want any of it anymore! I hate it! I hate it all. I _hate_ you, Albel!" The youth's green eyes were wild, wide and seemingly separated from reason. He surged forward in spite of the weakness in his muscles and attempted to push past Albel. "I want out! I want to go home!"

Immediately, Albel caught Fayt by the arm and pulled him back. He was surprised to find that the boy hardly put up even token resistance; he fell back into Albel's arms like a limp body, submitted to whatever Albel subjected him to. Albel raised his eyebrows in a, _well, this makes my life easier_ kind of way, and calmly led the bawling boy to the table he had fallen against earlier. Neither carefully nor roughly did he push the boy down onto the wooden surface, and then walked away momentarily.

Fayt lay still on the table, sniveling and hiccupping quietly to himself, and when Albel returned, he was easily able to see that the other man was concealing something in his left hand. "Wh…what is that?" the youth murmured, his voice strained.

"Sh," said Albel as he leaned forward over Fayt some. With his free hand, he began to stroke Fayt's hair in a comforting kind of way, ghosts of a smile visible on his face. "Relax. It'll be over soon."

"What'll be over soon?" Fayt questioned in a half-whisper, searching Albel's face for signs of an answer. In spite of his confusion, however, he indeed began to relax, eyes slowly falling shut, head tilted up into the touches to his hair and scalp like an eager cat being petted. "…'bel…"

Just as the youth began to lapse into a kind of sleep, Albel lifted the object in his left hand and brought it down, forcefully, striking Fayt in the head. The youth gave a sharp cry, then immediately afterward, fell unconscious. Once the swordsman was sure the boy was out cold, he sighed and dropped the object – a blackjack – onto the floor, and paused to gather his thoughts before scooping the unconscious Fayt off the table into his arms and departing from the dungeon with him.


End file.
